


And the Impossible Began

by BeesKnees



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: 75th Hunger Games, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Character Death, F/M, Quarter Quell, Victors, the rebellion is a failure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2015-05-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 08:14:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2766020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeesKnees/pseuds/BeesKnees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The arrow punches clean through Finnick's shoulder. Only Katniss' shaking hands stop it from going through his throat.</p><p>Finnick becomes the accidental victor of the Quarter Quell.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Looks like your stock might go down next year.”

This line is delivered without any particular emotion as his stylist finishes up his hair. It's the morning after the grand finish of the 74th Games – a finish that Finnick had been surprisingly unable to predict and has left all of the nation excited.

“Worried you're going to lose your job?” Finnick quips at his stylist, smile easily in place. Melia, unwavering, doesn't respond. She runs her fingers through his hair once more, making him look artfully mussed.

He understands her sentiment though: in the string of victors who have followed him, there hasn't been one who was as popular, attractive, and trapped as he is. He suspects this will change with Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, both of whom have already shown their cards, exposing who they care about. He's ready to start to fade, fervently hopes for more time spent at home. 

He pities the both of them, really.

…

He should have known better. 

He's prepared for a lot of things to happen during the Quarter Quell. He's prepared to mentor while something horrifying happens. He's prepared for his games to resurge in remembrance, marking the tenth anniversaries of his games. (Ten years. Ten years of his skin not belonging to him; it's incredible, isn't it, that he's made it this far?)

What he's not prepared for: going back into the arena himself. Going back into the arena with Mags, his mentor; with Johanna, his best friend; with Katniss and Peeta, the star-crossed lovers who are still trying to steal from the Capitol, and instead the Capitol is snatching them all back. 

“Can you forgive me for what he'll do?” he whispers to Annie before he leaves. What he means: Can you forgive whoever or whatever might come back out of the arena? They both know what goes in isn't what comes out. 

She frames his face in between her hands.

“Just come back to me,” she whispers in return, grants him the carte blanche he needs to steel his heart against all the sins he will commit. 

Annie gives him strength. He arrives in the Capitol, and Plutarch Heavensbee gives him hope: “Get Katniss and Peeta out safely, and we will get you, Mags, and Johanna out safely,” he promises, blunt words delivered with a honied edge. 

“I want Annie Cresta protected back in Four,” Finnick negotiates. He can make any deal as long as she is safe, he realizes. 

“Absolutely,” Plutarch answers with a nod of his head. “Keep our mockingjay safe, and I'll do whatever I can for you, Finnick.”

They seal the deal with a handshake, as if this is still a civilized world they live in where handshakes can stand for anything.

So, here he is, back in the arena at 24, with Annie's love, a promise, and a golden bangle, which are three things more than he had the last time he went into the arena. 

He puts himself right in Katniss' line of sight, not sure that she isn't going to shoot him right away. But it needs to be in the cornucopia, he knows. Otherwise she'll be off into the jungle and he may never see her again. He earns her trust here or he dies here, right at the very beginning. Finnick Odair, oh so promising, shocking to see him taken out first.

But Katniss Everdeen doesn't let the arrow fly. She falters, stares at the gold, and then they're working together, racing toward Mags and Peeta, intent on getting to safety, getting away from the Careers. This might just work, Finnick thinks as he concentrates on breathing, keeping Mags hefted onto his back. Katniss still doesn't trust him, but she hasn't killed him yet, and from the girl on fire, Finnick think that's significant progress. 

(Defining characteristic of his life: He should have known better.)

They're still searching for water when suddenly Katniss freezes. She screams Peeta's name, but the explosion in front of them eats up all of Finnick's attention. He's disorientated for only a second before he realizes that Peeta is on the ground. He scrambles forward, pulling Katniss away. He's aware of the girl going for her bow and arrow, but he doesn't pay her any heed.

He presses down on Peeta's chest, lifts his mouth, blows airs into his lungs, and wills the boy to breathe. 

“Come on, Peeta,” Finnick says, over and over again, trying to start his heart up again, but Peeta is unmoving beneath him. He hears Katniss still crying, her sobs shaking and messy, but he can't focus on her right now. All he can focus on is the boy underneath him. (Him and Jo in a bar at the end of the last games and she says, _The boy will never make it_. You live by one rule as a victor: Survive. You don't put anybody else in front of you.) 

It seems that Johanna's premonition is coming true this time around, because Finnick can't bring Peeta back to life. Overhead, the cannon booms, and Katniss screams, unable to hold the sound in.

Finnick, still trying to catch his own breath, looks up and at where Katniss is kneeling in front of him, messy tears streaking down her face.

(Oh, Finnick thinks dimly. She does – did – love him.)

He opens his mouth to say something, to apologize, to say that _he tried_.

But Katniss, her hands still shaking, lets the arrow fly. It punches clean through Finnick's shoulder, close at they are, and he groans, falling backward, his fingers fumbling to get to the arrow. (She meant to hit him in the throat. Only her shaking hands made her miss.) 

She gets to her feet, stumbling for a moment, but notches up another arrow, taking aim at him again. They're too close, and there's no way she can miss again. He holds up his hands deferentially, exposing his chest, but hoping she'll focus on the bangle again.

“Katniss,” he says warily, but there's no reasoning with her, not now. Not when Peeta is dead, and Finnick may not have killed him, but he was the one who grabbed her off of him. He was the last one who touched Peeta Mellark and it doesn't matter that he tried to save him: It matters that he didn't. 

Finnick closes his eyes and breathes out, letting go. She lets this arrow fly as well; Finnick hears the thud and waits for the pain, but it doesn't come. He opens his eyes and stares up in shock at where Mags is in front of him, back bent, one hand reaching toward him.

“No,” Finnick breathes out. “No, no.”

Mags collapses to her knees in front of him. The shot is clean, and she's gone before Finnick manages to reach her, her cannon booming overhead. 

Katniss has one hand pressed over her face, and she's still shaking, shell-shocked. She drops the bow to the ground and then flees, blindly, running back toward where they had come, going toward the beach. Finnick watches her go, knowing that he needs to go after her. (Needs to save her if he's going to get out of here.) But his legs won't move. He's still on the ground, staring down at Mags, his shoulder throbbing with the arrow in it. 

The hovercraft comes, lowering down the ladder and Finnick is forced to allow Mags to go, even though he wants to cling. He has no reason to stay to this spot now, not with Peeta and Mags gone. But he stays anyway.

If someone is going to find him, so be it. Night grows and the pictures flash in the sky: Mags first. District Five, the man Finnick killed at the cornucopia to earn Katniss' trust. Male morphling; Woof; Cecelia; both of the tributes from District 9; the woman from District 10; Seeder; Peeta.

It has to be one of the bloodiest beginnings to a Hunger Games, and yet, anyone who had a high-ranking is still alive: him, Katniss, all of the Careers, Johanna. 

Finnick remains where he is, goes to sleep on the jungle floor, with a throbbing shoulder. He wakes up to twelve striking gongs, the noise unfamiliar in the arena. The sky is washed in light momentarily, lightning crackling across the fake night sky. 

A knife comes to his throat. It should come as no surprise; he hasn't moved, has made himself a target. He lifts his head a little, stares at the expanse of jungle in front of him.

Three other figures float into his line of vision – Brutus, Cashmere, Gloss. That meant it's Enobaria at his back. The Career pack has found him. Brutus smirks openly, but Cashmere is wearing her uncertainty openly.

“Run into a spot of bad luck?” Enobaria hisses into his ear, her fingers digging into the ragged wound in his shoulder. Finnick refuses to give her the satisfaction of showing that he's in pain.

“Just do it,” Cashmere says; she's having trouble looking at him. Maybe because they were so often sold together when he first arrived. She showed him all the survival techniques that she knew in the Capitol.   
Enobaria laughs. _This is it_ , Finnick thinks. _This is how I finally die_.

But it isn't: An axe comes flying out of the darkness and embeds itself in Cashmere's chest. (Cannon.) Seconds later, Finnick hears the cracking of bone and blood sprays on the side of his face as a second axe catches the top of Enobaria's head. (Cannon.) Her knife slides down, catching him across the collarbone and shoulder. Finnick rolls to the side, gets to his dropped trident. He's moving on instinct now, more than anything else, steps that he's rehearsed a thousand times.

He spins once he gets the trident in his hands, and jabs forward, catching Brutus in the gut. The man grunts and Finnick pushes in hard, further, tearing flesh and organs, before pulling back. (Cannon.)

Johanna comes racing out of the line of trees, screaming. She is soaked to the bone in blood, barely recognizable; she looks more demon than human, the white of her eyes crazed, her hair slick against her skin. Gloss is ready for her: She brings her axe down in a wide stroke, but Gloss parries with his sword, blocking the axe. He kicks at her, bringing her feet out from underneath her. She lands hard, the air knocked out of her. Her axe hits the ground, and Gloss tries to stab her with the sword in a downward thrust. Finnick throws the trident, and it knocks the sword out of his hands with a loud clatter. 

Gloss looks belatedly at him – a precious moment too long – because Johanna whirls the axe around, slicing a clean line across Gloss' knees. He stumbles backward. Finnick races across the jungle floor, winding his way behind Johanna, to grab his trident again. He kicks the sword further away. 

He turns just in time to see Johanna take another swing aimed at Gloss' throat. Just as she does, Gloss drops, and barrels into Johanna, his massive frame taking hers down easily. They grapple on the ground, Johanna screaming into Gloss' face as he tries to pry the axe from her with one hand; with the other, he grabs a rock and smashes into the side of Johanna's head.

Finnick runs to her and plunges the trident into Gloss' back. He arches up for a moment, away from Johanna, and makes a wet gasping noise before going still. (Cannon.)

“Get him the fuck off of me!” Johanna yells from underneath Gloss' dead weight. Finnick breathes and does so, rolling Gloss to the side.

He kneels beside her, taking her face into one of his hands. He can't tell how injured she is though, not when she's already drenched in blood. She pushes him away and stumbles to her own feet.

“What was that?” she asks angrily as she goes to retrieve her first axe from Cashmere's chest. “The sit-on-your-ass-and-wait-to-die technique?” 

Belatedly, Finnick realizes his hands are shaking. He stills them and doesn't try to answer Johanna yet. She's still ranting angrily, about to start pacing from the looks of it. (She was scared too. They just took out four Careers together.)

“Are you on your own?” Finnick asks finally. Johanna looks at him – really looks at him. Her jaw goes tight; something's happened to her too.

“I'm got Nuts and Volts,” she says, almost dully. “I left them down by the treeline when I heard Enobaria.” She pauses, and then asks combatively, “What happened?”

Finnick's throat goes tight.

“Peeta hit the forcefield,” Finnick answers. “I tried to … Katniss shot me with an arrow. And ...” He can't get Mags' name out, but Johanna seems to understand all the same. 

“I don't know where she went,” Finnick tacks on. Johanna makes a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat. 

She heads back down toward the beach, and Finnick follows. He hears low murmuring before they find Beetee and Wiress; Wiress is muttering something, over and over again, that Finnick doesn't catch at first. They're both also coated in blood.

“Finnick,” Beetee says, nodding at him.

“The Career pack is dead,” Johanna announces flatly. She keeps marching, moves straight past them, and heads down to the beach. Finnick helps Wiress to her feet, and the four of them stumble down toward the water. It's still dark, difficult to see, but with the Career pack dead, there's significantly less competition: Their main threats now, honestly, are Chaff – who should be on their side – and Katniss, who might still be trying to kill him. But she's who they need to find now if any of them stand a chance at getting out of the arena. 

Johanna washes herself off while Beetee and Finnick try to help Wiress. Finnick pauses to examine his own wounds – the cut from the knife was deep, and was still sluggishly bleeding, and the arrow wound has begun to throb hotly. A high chance of infection there, if he's not careful. 

Once they're all clean, Johanna and Finnick set up watch, Beetee and Wiress asleep on the beach next to them. The jungle is never quiet around them. Insects constantly chirrup around them, but there are other noises too: Finnick swears he hears monkeys at one point. The noises circle around them. When it's his turn to sleep, he does so uneasily.

Come morning, they still haven't seen any other tributes. Finnick fishes for them while Johanna hacks at a tree until she can get enough water. (She had confessed that she'd hit one by accident early on, and had been amazed when water spouted out.) They sit there most of the morning, hoping that someone will show their face, endeavor to get back to the Cornucopia for additional supplies. No one does. 

When noon hits, the lightning strikes the giant tree again; Beetee watches memorized.

“We need to go back into the jungle,” he decides for them. Finnick looks at Johanna, who shrugs. They need to find Katniss, and it's clear she hasn't come back to the beach. They begin to move, a slow winding train. Two more cannons go off while they're walking, and Finnick is uncomfortably aware that they have no way of knowing if either of them are for Katniss. 

Johanna, who has been leading their small party, stops abruptly. Finnick has been trying to keep on an eye on Beetee, who is limping visibly, and Wiress, who still is suffering from shock. He nearly runs into Johanna. She stares up ahead. It takes Finnick a moment to realize what she's looking at. A cloud of white is drifting slowly toward them. He doesn't know what it is, but he's seen enough gamemaker tricks to know they need to move quickly.

“Go,” Johanna snaps, gesturing with her hand for all of them to turn the other way. 

Finnick grabs Wiress onto his back, and they all start to run. But the faster they seem to run, the faster the creeping fog moves. Finnick can't look over his shoulder, but he hears Johanna start to shout behind him, Beetee letting out a low gasp. 

It's then that the first bit of fog hits his legs. They seize up, the muscles clamping, his skin blistering with pain.

Wiress' frantic “tick-tocks” become louder, a scream in his ear. Johanna is still shouting at Beetee to, “go, go, damn you!” But they can't run fast enough. Finnick's legs begin to shake, and the fog claws up his arms, up the side of his face. He feels covered in it, and is trying frantically not to breathe it in. His entire body is heaving, and Wiress jerks messily along his back. 

Her heart can't take it. Not after everything else. She says a final “tick-tock,” breathed out against his neck, and then gives in. Her cannon booms overheard. Finnick's mind goes blank for an instant, and he can't figure out what just happened – but Johanna grabs Wiress immediately off of him. Her body slides limply to the ground.

Beetee can barely walk now, and Johanna and Finnick have to pull him along. ( _Is this it?_ Finnick thinks, his body blaring with pain and warning. _Is this how I die?_ )

They stumble down a hill, falling and Finnick's lungs feel like they're going to burst. (Are they as burned as the outside of him is?) They all land on the ground, and Johanna is making a strange noise, as if she's trying to laugh, but can't. She gets to her feet first, and Finnick helps Beetee up. They watch as the fog stops above them, curling as if it's hit a wall.

“It seems as if the attacks in this arena are limited to certain segments,” Beetee announces, articulate even when he's exhausted. 

All Finnick cares about is that they're still alive. Johanna tromps over to a small body of water near them, dunks her whole body in and screams. Finnick nearly runs to her, but he can see the poison sluicing its way out of her, visible in the clear water. They're all in the water seconds later, even though it's one of the most painful things Finnick has ever gone through. He curses, dunking himself time and time again until the sting begins to abate. 

They're all unguarded for a moment, which is why it comes as such a surprise when a monkey flings itself down from a tree and buries its fangs into Beetee's neck. Blood spurts to the surface, his glasses flung askew.

“Shit!” Johanna curses, and abruptly they're surrounded. She begins flinging her axes wildly. One of them grabs her from behind, and Finnick spears it. Teeth and fur and their weapons are everywhere. They fight back-to-back, trying to keep the other from being exposed as they also work their way back toward the beach, trying to get away from the attacks. 

They manage it, eventually, even though Finnick gets a bad bite to his calf, and Johanna sports a wicked set of scratches on the cheek that has already bloomed purple and black from where Gloss hit her with the rock. 

Johanna collapses weakly onto the beach as soon as they're done, still holding an axe in each hand. They stay there and don't try to venture back into the jungle. Instead, they listen to the cannon each time it fires.

That night, when the faces are shown in the sky, Finnick realizes it's just him, Johanna, Katniss, and Chaff left. He can openly hope that Chaff and Katniss are together. Chaff knows to look for them. 

As dusk approaches, they make their way around the beach in a circular motion, scanning the jungle for signs of motion, any sign of where Katniss and Chaff could be. At one point, Finnick hears distant screams, faint, but they don't sound like Katniss, or Chaff for that matter. He starts to head toward them, but Johanna catches his arm, shakes her head. They keep walking. 

From above them, Finnick hears the cracking of trees. He looks up, the best he can from their position, and is surprised to see wave of water cresting down one side of the arena. Johanna and he freeze, watch in surprise as it takes down rows of trees. A cannon goes off – and another figure bursts out of the trees, exploding onto the beach, running for her life. 

Katniss.

Finnick starts to run, even though he knows it's no use. The water is coming too fast, and Katniss is too far. It sweeps her up, catching her feet out from underneath her. He watches as she disappears under the swell, her eyes wide for a moment, before the water extinguishes their girl on fire entirely. The rest of the water slides away, quietly breaking against his feet. 

Finnick slows, and then walks toward where the wave finished breaking. Katniss floats on the lip of the beach, braid still intact, her quiver of almost unused arrows on her back. 

Johanna comes up to stand behind him, and they both stare.

Johanna realizes it before he does. They are the only two left in the arena, and no one is coming to get them. 

He turns toward Jo. 

She is staring at him, an axe already in her hand. His eyes drop to it for a moment, even though he doesn't for a second think she's going to actually try and kill him. Where does this leave them? (He remembers Annie asking him to come back to her, no matter what.) But he can't kill Johanna. They won't kill each other, and then the Capitol will kill both of them. He's not going home. 

“I'm sorry, Finnick,” Johanna says flatly. It's the most alarming thing she has ever said to him. (Johanna Mason doesn't apologize for anything; everyone knows that.) She backs up a few steps, slowly, her feet dragging through the wet sand. Where is she going? 

“I'm not going back,” she says then, and still his brain isn't catching up. He's still just staring at her.

She raises the axe and plunges the blade into the middle of her forehead. Her body collapses as if all the strings have been cut. The trident falls from Finnick's hand and he collapses as well, vomiting on the sand. 

He doesn't remember anything after that.


	2. Chapter 2

Finnick wakes up in the hospital in the tribute center. It's made for the purpose of holding the victor after they win. There's an IV in his arm, and he can feel the pull of his cuts and burns but, except for where Katniss shot him in the shoulder, they've all been erased. (That one has been left: proof of Katniss Everdeen's betrayal. She turned on her allies, killed an old woman just trying to protect the boy she raised.)

“No,” Finnick breathes, replaying everything that's happened. He's lost Mags. He's lost Jo. He's lost the rebellion. He's just … a victor. Again. 

“No, no, no,” Finnick says over and over again, and it's the only thing he can say. They come in and drug him, without batting an eye, because that what's they do to victors who are in shock when they wake up. They drug them until they deal. When Finnick wakes up again, he's in restraints. 

Haymitch is there, unshaven, and wreaking of booze. They stare at each other, as if uncertain who the other is. The pain of losing everyone hits Finnick again, hard in the gut. He and Haymitch are the last. There are other victors, forgettable, faded into near obscurity. But out of their lot, out of the ones who were most threatened, maimed, and cornered by the Capitol, they are the last. Out of the group that had closed ranks and struggled to keep each other alive, it's just them.

(And Annie, his Annie, but his mind balks at even the thought of her name.)

Finnick starts to struggle against the restraints again, his breath coming too fast. He can't be here. He tries to get out the words, but he can't. Garbled vowels and clotted syllables, but no actual words.

“Hey,” Haymitch says, leans in, presses a hand in against his arm. “Calm down, kid.” It's always been _kid_ with Haymitch, as if he's stayed fourteen years old ever since he won his games.

Finnick stills, just for a minute, and Haymitch's expression hardens.

“Snow is expecting you up in his office this afternoon,” Haymitch says, his voice low. (But it's nothing like it was before the games, when it was sharp and conspiratorial. He's been defeated, suckerpunched into being nothing more than an old alcoholic again. The world has punished Haymitch Abernathy for sliding out of his usual and relative indifference.) 

“Does he--?” Finnick tries to ask, finally getting out two words even though he doesn't manage to complete the whole sentence: Does Snow know what they tried to do? Does he know about their acts of rebellion, and does he knew about Thirteen's involvement?

Haymitch shakes his head, but then, why would Snow have known? All of their plans failed, so what did it matter now? 

“Listen, Finnick,” Haymitch says, commanding Finnick's attention with the unusual use of his name. “What happened at the end …” Johanna with the axe, sinking it into her forehead. _I'm not going back_. “That isn't what happened.” Haymitch says pointedly. 

He doesn't elaborate, but Finnick understand all the same. That isn't the sort of ending that the Capitol wants: They want blood, they want tributes struggling against each other. They want a clear victory. Finnick can't be handed his crown because Johanna committed suicide. Because that isn't Finnick claiming anything: That's Johanna stealing her life from the arena. 

He wonders what everyone has seen, but he shuts that line of thought down quickly, because he doesn't actually want to know. 

Finnick nods, the motion still jerky. Nothing has changed then. They're right back where they were before Katniss' games. Haymitch pats him awkwardly on the shoulder and then sinks back down into the chair next to his bed.

“You know how this goes,” Haymitch says. “You stay calm, they don't drug you any more.”

It's the wrong choice of words: Finnick processes them, realizes he does know this, and then immediately starts screaming until they come in and put him back under.

…

When he comes back up again, still dulled by the drugs pumping through his veins, he's being ushered up to President Snow's office. Snow doesn't come down to see his victors until they've been cleaned up enough to walk on their own. (The first time, Finnick had been brought up hours after winning his games. Annie was brought to him only right before her interviews, still shaking and almost catatonic.)

But this time, everyone expects more from him, because he's been a victor, he's been a mentor. He knows these routines. Even if they're surreal.

Finnick sinks into the chair across from the president's desk without needing to be told. His stylist has touched him up, and he's wearing a new suit, something a little more conservative than what he's usually shoved into.

“Mr. Odair,” Snow says, smiling as he focuses his attention on Finnick. Finnick is certain this is the most happy he's ever seen President Snow – but why not? He's just made it so that he didn't have to discredit the notion of rebellion; he tricked Katniss Everdeen into doing that for him.

Finnick smiles, an ingrained instinct. Snow shakes his hand, holding him for a touch too long before they both settle backward.

“I am most overjoyed to welcome you home, Mr. Odair,” Snow says easily, leaning back. “To have broken another record of the games, well, I hope you are aware of just how beloved a son you are of the Capitol.”

Finnick's gut swells with worry: the same sensation he had when Enobaria had the knife to his throat. All Finnick wants to know is when he's going to get back to Four. He's tired of being a son of the Capitol.

“In return for your prowess and bravery in the Capitol, I am having a household set up for you here,” Snow continues. “Which will be gifted to you at the end of your victory tour in six month's time.”

“No,” Finnick says before he can stop himself, the word bursting unbidden from his lips.

President Snow goes very still; it's not a word either of them has heard him say before. He's not a victor who's ever needed lessons. (He can't afford them, not with how large his family is.) He smiles, he placates, he serves. 

“In light of our many years of friendship,” Snow says, dangerous edge to his voice. “I want you to sit there and not speak, Finnick. Rethink your answer.” Snow turns on the display monitor in front of him. It's just static, and Finnick stares, not sure what this trick is. Snow picks up his phone, dials a single number.

“Would you please confirm for me that you're in District Four?” Snow asks, and the light on the screen in front of Finnick changes: the static fades away and there's Annie and his youngest sister in the main room of his house. They're on the floor, picking through shells. Annie's hands are shaking a little, visible even on the screen. But they're both unaware they're being watched. 

Finnick's blood has gone cold. It wipes out the last traces of the drugs in his system, and suddenly he is sober, drowning in the president's office. He's lost everything, he realizes. The only thing left to him is Annie, and he can't let Snow take her away too. He's more vulnerable than ever before; he would have done anything to save her before the Quell, and that feeling is only intensified now.

“I want you to go into the Odairs' house,” Snow orders, looking at him as he speaks. “Bring out Annie Cresta. Shoot her in the head, and then bring her body back here.”

“Please,” Finnick says hoarsely. His hands tremble against his knees. “I'm sorry.” 

Snow still looks at him. The cameras move closer to the house. For an instant, just a moment, Annie glances over her shoulder. It almost looks like she's looking into the camera – looking into Finnick. Her hair curls over her shoulders, messy and wind-strewn, and her shawl tugs loosely down over one shoulder. Lines etch the corners of her mouth that Finnick doesn't remember, probably born from hours of watching him struggle through the arena on television. 

“You know I know what to do,” Finnick tacks on, each word measured, but born of pure desperation. “I know how to behave. How to … serve the government well.” 

The camera zips closer again.

“Cancel that order,” Snow says, and the screen goes off again.

Finnick lets out a breath he doesn't know he'd been holding. It shudders out of him, his lungs aching. He feels weak, as if he's been taken out at the knees. He wants to hold her. He wants to know that she's real, and not something he imagined – everything from his life before the Quell feels imagined. He wants to know she's _safe_. 

“Your interview with Flickerman will be on Friday,” Snow continues, as if nothing has happened. “I will generously give you the weekend off to rest, and you will resume your other responsibilities on Monday. Your tour will take place in the standard amount of time, during which we will announce your decision to become a full-time member of the Capitol. After that, you will mentor for the 76th Hunger Games.”

His entire life is laid out in front of him, rewritten again. Annie is stricken from it. His family is erased, the sea is removed. 

“Yes, sir,” Finnick says, the words pulled from his throat.

Snow nods at him, a curt dismissal. Finnick gets up, and he can't feel his legs at all. He doesn't know how he makes it to the door, and he certainly doesn't know why he decides to turn around again. Snow looks at him, eyebrow raised.

“I want to take Johanna home,” Finnick says. He knows, after what just happened, he shouldn't be asking for anything – and especially not if they're not happy with how the games _actually_ ended. But he can't stand the thought of Johanna being buried with no one there for her. Not when the only reason she has no family is because of the man standing in front of him, and not when she was one of the few true friends Finnick actually had. Johanna Mason deserved a lot better throughout her life. Finnick can't do anything to change that now, but he can make sure that her death isn't cast away as unimportant. 

Snow stares at him. And then he crosses his hands in front of him.

“Why don't you tell me about the end of your games?” Snow asks; it's a challenge. Finnick smiles, gleaming.

“I'm sorry to hear that you missed it, Mister President,” Finnick replies easily, recovering the plastic charm he always speaks with when he's in the Capitol. “You know, I gave Jo the benefit of the doubt, just for a second, and she took advantage of that right away. She came at me with an axe, nearly took my head clean off.” He has no idea what footage they've pieced together of him and Johanna. In a way, he knows it doesn't matter. It will be close enough to whatever he's saying, because he knows what the Capitol loves: bloody, raw, desperate. 

“I have to say, I thought she had me,” Finnick shrugs his shoulders, an easy rise and fall, as if he's not describing anything of consequence. “But my reach with the trident was a lot longer than hers with the axe. She couldn't get back at me. I took her throat out with the trident.” He tacks on another winning smile. 

Some part of him is aware that he should feel disgusted with himself, but he doesn't. He can pay this price, an imagined version of Johanna's death, if it means getting what he wants. 

“You may accompany Johanna Mason back to District Seven in lieu of taking Mags to District Four,” Snow grants without even looking at Finnick.

The ultimatum bites at Finnick's heart. If he skips Four, he won't be see his family, he won't see _Annie_ again until the Victory Tour. He won't be able to go to Mags' funeral – the woman who loved him so much that she couldn't bear to let him die in the arena that she brought him back even knowing the hell that was waiting for him and then sacrificed her own life so that he could live just a little longer. But all of District Four will be waiting for Mags when she comes home. She is known to everyone there, their victor who seemed like she would never die. She mentored lovingly all throughout her life, and went to the family of every tribute she couldn't bring home. 

But Finnick doesn't need a funeral to know how much he loved her in return. He doesn't need a funeral to say his good-byes. 

“Okay,” Finnick agrees. 

…

He is shirtless for his interview, wearing what barely passes for shorts, his skin swathed in gold with green and light blue jewels glinting in cresting waves over his body. Even for him, this amount of makeup is overwhelming. 

Haymitch lingers near him while Melia prepares him for his interview. When she retreats, Haymitch hastily presses something into his hand. Finnick looks down, surprised, to see the necklace of shells that he'd worn until he'd gone into the Quarter Quell. From Annie, placed around his neck, a kiss to the hollow of his throat, and a beckoning call to remind him to come home. He'd assumed it would be his token until Haymitch had a gold bangle delivered to him. (Finnick stares at the bangle in the middle of the night, traces fingertips along the faint decorative lines. It represents a promise, broken, and Finnick doesn't know what to do with it now. It seems almost sacrilegious to get rid of it, but what sense is there in keeping it now?)

The necklace though, Finnick stares at. He wraps his hand tightly around it, presses his lips to the edge of it and closes his eyes. He can feel prickling tears that he hastily blinks away.

“Thank you,” he says to Haymitch, voice hoarse, as he tugs the necklace on over his head. 

Haymitch nods, slinks back to wherever he came from.

Minutes later, Finnick is on stage, blinded by the lights beaming down on him. The applause when he appears is as loud as he's ever heard it, stretching on for entire minutes, the Capitol crowd on its feet, pleased to see one of their favorite sons returned home to them. (If they're still upset at the loss of Katniss, Cashmere, Beetee, or any of the others they had cried over the night before the games had begun, they've forgotten it now.) 

Now, it's just Finnick, and they love him more than ever.

Caesar bounds across stage, shakes his hand, and then gives in and wraps Finnick up in a too-tight hug that makes Finnick feel like he's drowning.

Some of the glitter from Finnick's chest smears brightly across the front of Flickerman's already twinkling suit. Ceasar cracks a joke about it that Finnick doesn't catch, and then they're seated. Finnick remains smiling, well-trained, knows that the lives of everyone in his family, as always, depend on how good his performance is. He knows how to be perfect though. 

They start off with the usual pleasantries, bantering back and forth, and then it's onto footage, onto questions about what happened during the games. The first part is no surprise, and Finnick takes care to hold his hurt in the pit of his stomach, away from his heart. 

On the large screen behind them, eating up pixel after pixel in vivid technicolor detail – more real than life itself – is him, hovering over Peeta, trying to will him back to life. (What would have happened, he wonders, if he had managed to resurrect Peeta Mellark? He knows better than to ask these questions, because asking the _what-ifs_ is what drives a victor insane. But this one slips in regardless, teasing the synapses of his brain.) But cold reality is painted on the wall behind him: Peeta Mellark dies underneath him. Katniss' hands shake. Two arrows fly, both missing their intended mark. 

The wound on Finnick's shoulder throbs; it's on stark display tonight.

“Finnick, can you tell us why you decided to become allies with Katniss Everdeen?” Caesar asks, tone intended to be somber. 

“Who didn't want to be allies with Katniss and Peeta?” Finnick asks easily, smile still curving his mouth. And it's apparently a good enough answer. He passes, because Flickerman also smiles before moving onto the next question. He pauses to reset the moment, expression sober, shoulders tense.

“And what was it like when Katniss betrayed you? When she killed Mags?” 

The question digs in, festers quietly in his chest. He makes sure not to let any of his real pain bleed through: show distress, but nothing genuine. 

“She was trying to protect the person she loved most,” Finnick answers. “And I think that's a sentiment we can all understand.” His answer is serious, not a quip. It's the most rebellious thing he's said since he met with Snow, and he knows it's the most rebellious thing he will probably ever say again. Even then, the sentence has no real teeth. It's his good-bye to Mags, to Katniss, to Peeta. It's his apology that he couldn't save them. They all deserved better. 

Flickerman smiles again.

“Tell me about Johanna.”

…

Finnick and Haymitch stand on the cold earth in District Seven. They're away from the city, back in the woods, where the Mason family plot is. The family's cemetery is out in the middle of nowhere. No one else is here except for them and the man who dug Johanna's grave. He's covering her in dirt now.

He and Haymitch stand close together, the cold of the district bracing. Finnick shivers underneath his coat, arms crossed in front of him, and Haymitch blows his nose into a handkerchief. Finnick hadn't asked why Haymitch came with him. He knows that Haymitch isn't being allowed to bring Katniss and Peeta back to District Twelve, but then, they'll both have plenty of people there to welcome them home the last time. 

A headstone had come with them on the train, something that Finnick had stared dully at when he'd first seen it. He wondered if they had all been made before the Quell, a line of twenty-four names forsaken for the glory of the Capitol. (Where is his then, he wonders. Is it still sitting somewhere in the Capitol, waiting for the date to be updated to weeks, years, later?) 

The man finishes his work, dirt piled in a dark clump over where Johanna now lies underground. He leaves them without saying anything else. 

He and Haymitch stand in the howling cold and say nothing. What is there to be said? No apologies will undo this. No shared memories will make the moment lighter. Finnick thinks to tell her that he forgives her for what she's done, but he doesn't know if he has. He doesn't know if she's saved him or damned him. 

They leave only when Melia comes to retrieve them. She's been his stylist for years, but Finnick wouldn't say they are friends. She is an unwavering presence, but it's hard to tell what she thinks of what's happened. She showed no additional happiness at having him returned. She acts as if nothing has happened, instead. She guides them wordlessly back to the train.

When they arrive, there is a single person waiting for them. A priest. The man is aged, weatherworn, looks uncertain if he wants to be there. Belatedly, Finnick wonders if he meant to say a few words over Johanna's grave – but knows that she wouldn't have wanted that. She never believed in anything but in her own strength and the cruelty of the world to grind a person down.

“Mr. Odair, Mr. Abernathy,” the man says, nodding between the two of them. Haymitch stares at him as if he's never seen a priest before. Neither of them answer him, so the priest continues.

“Miss Mason never left a will as to what was to be done with her belongings in the event of her passing,” the man says. His eyes keep flitting between Finnick and Haymitch, as if he's weighing which one will be more helpful. The answer: neither of them. When they're still silent, the priest presses them more overtly.

“She has no next of kin. We're wondering … what should be done?”

A few weeks ago, Finnick would have put on a smile. He would have coyly, but truthfully, told this man to get everything he could out of Johanna's household. To give away to those who needed it, and to sell what couldn't be used. He doesn't have that in him anymore. He walks away without saying anything, gets back on the train. In the background, he hears Haymitch say something about how the Capitol will come to collect everything.

Haymitch drinks on the way back. Finnick helps him.


	3. Chapter 3

His stock doesn't go down. It rises and rises and rises, and Finnick rarely sleeps in his own bed. He gives up his hold on sobriety, lets himself stumble drunken and high through every interaction. He doesn't know where he is when he wakes up in his own apartment.

Haymitch doesn't leave the Capitol and Finnick doesn't know why. He doesn't ask. He doesn't know if Haymitch is under orders to stay or if he can't stand the thought of going back to two more buried tributes. He sleeps on the floor of Finnick's apartment. Yet, he is the one who brings Finnick a cup of coffee (and two more pills) when Finnick jerks out of a nightmare. He's the one who props Finnick up on the bathroom floor when he drinks too much, when he accidentally overdoses three months in, not sure what pills he's been fed at a party. He's the one who makes sure Finnick doesn't die. (They grow to hate each other.)

Melia begins fitting him for clothes for the Victory Tour – pursed lips tell him he's lost too much weight, and so he's put back on a strict workout routine, made to put back on some of his muscle mass. He's in top shape by the time his final suits are cut. The Capitol is so excited about his Tour that the train station is actually packed when he leaves. He smiles and waves. He is a good victor.

Before now, he has always been unerringly good at using whatever substances he needs to survive his time in the Capitol. (And after Annie, he'd even given up all the drugs. It had just been alcohol, and even then he'd been far more sober than anyone else in the Capitol.) He'd given up on that after the Quell, but had assumed that he'd be able to be clean throughout the Tour. 

He'd forgotten they were starting in Twelve.

When they slide into the station, Haymitch physically flinches as he looks out the window.

Finnick remembers the last time he was here. Ten years ago, and he was 15 and still didn't comprehend what was waiting for him in the Capitol. Mags had stayed with him through every speech and every dinner. He remembered how shocked he was by the poverty in Twelve. How strange it had been to meet Haymitch, who had practically laughed at him through everything. 

Finnick thinks he knows what to expect this time. (He should have known better.)

As soon as he gets out onto the stage, he realizes his mistake. When he was here last time, he didn't care about the tributes from Twelve. He didn't know them. He hadn't killed them. They had been two small children, completely forgettable. This time, Katniss' and Peeta's images look down at him. Katniss' surly glare pins him in place. In front of her image is her sister and her mother. The sister who started it all, far taller than she had been when her name had first been plucked. (Truth: Finnick can't remember her name. She'd just been Katniss' sister, the girl who started everything.) 

Peeta's family is in front of him as well, mother, father, brothers. Finnick's fingers go numb as he remembers pressing on the boy's chest and feeling the resounding emptiness inside. 

He looks over at where Haymitch is slumped at the side of the stage, as if looking for an answer on how to get through this. Melia hasn't written him any cards, and he wishes for them now more than anything. 

He stands in front of the microphone too long, static bleeding into the airwaves. Empty faces stare back at him: They hate him. And they should. He had one job, and his failure has cost the entire nation.

He smiles. 

“I would like to thank you for your kind hospitality,” Finnick starts. He doesn't know where the words come from, but he's disgusted how they come so easily. Once he begins, he doesn't stop. “I think we all know how special Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark were. I wasn't allies with them for long, but I was glad to get to know them while I could. Their love was an inspiration for our entire nation, and they fought for it with dignity and strength. I hope to embody their traits for as long as I can.” 

It's all he manages, an unusually short speech, especially for how things played out with him and the two of them. But Katniss is staring at him, calling him a fucking liar. He'll do nothing with the rest of his life but whore himself out for President Snow. 

He rushes off stage as soon as he's done, goes to Haymitch.

“Give me something,” he tells Haymitch, hand thrust out. 

“I don't--” Melia starts to stay, but Haymitch palms him three pills, two blue, one red, and Finnick has no idea what any of them are, but he swallows them dry anyway. 

He's pleasantly numb by the time he sits down for dinner. He eats only what he's made to by Melia, doesn't taste anything. He talks, but he has no idea of what he's saying. Everything is an automatic answer; they don't want to laugh here anyway, he knows. The celebration has all the festivity of a funeral, which is what it is. It's him spitting on graves – what could he say? What could he have said of the truth of what Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark? That her strength and stubbornness and his sheer belief in trust and love were a combination that were unparalleled? That, together, they were able to do what no one else in 74 years had been able to pull off? That they had made him and so many others dare to be brave? Dare to finally open their eyes to what was being done around the country? 

He's a goddamn mouthpiece, and him arriving here, pretending that they're just another pair of dead tributes discredits them and their importance as much as their actual deaths do. 

He's ready to go back to the train when he's stopped by a small figure in his path. Haymitch also freezes at his side: Katniss' sister, who had been at the end of the table during the dinner. She may have grown, but she still seems small in front of Finnick. He can see so little of Katniss in her: She's light and there's a softness to her that he doubts Katniss ever had. But the set of her shoulders is firm in a way that is familiar, and her gaze also eats straight through him.

“Prim,” Haymitch says – and those have to be the first words that Finnick has heard him speak in weeks. “Go back to your mom.”

Prim looks at him, but then looks back at Finnick. 

“I wanted to thank you,” she says, reaching forward to take his hand. “For trying to help my sister and Peeta.” 

Her words eat through the veneer the drugs have on him. She doesn't know what she's saying. He pulls his hand away and he smiles, but he doesn't say anything. He can't bear lying anymore. Not to this girl, who thinks he's something more than a murderer and a coward. 

A few weeks ago, he would have talked to Haymitch about how they could make sure that Prim and her mother had enough to get by. He doesn't now. He's learned: He can't save anyone.

They get back to the train. He gets more pills from Haymitch and tells Melia to make him cards for the other districts. (In them, Johanna Mason isn't his best friend. Cashmere and Gloss didn't help get him through being sold in the Capitol. He didn't conspire with Chaff, Wiress, and Beetee.)

Haymitch gets him whatever he wants between the districts. Melia's mouth gets thinner with each pill, but Haymitch, whatever his methods, makes sure that Finnick only has enough to make him numb, but not enough to be noticeable. 

Until they get to Four.

Finnick has nightmares as the smell of the sea becomes stronger. He hasn't been home in months. He hasn't seen Annie since he left, and the closer they get, the more his body seems to become aware of it. It tries to wake him up, tries to tell him that his safe place is near. Home is near. But he doesn't let it lie to him this time: He tells it, in counterpoint, that they have no home anymore. 

When they slide into the station, Finnick holds out a hand to Haymitch for something, but Haymitch shakes his head. He gets off before Finnick can argue with him, and it takes Finnick an additional 15 minutes to force himself off the train.

He almost misses the outlying districts, because he can accept their well-deserved hatred. But, no matter what he does, no matter what happens, Four loves him so much for being their victor. The one who brought them fame and acclaim, brought them back into competition with other Career districts. 

He has to get off the train though. He has no choice. The mayor is waiting for him, beaming happily. He shakes Finnick's hand and talks too fast before ushering Finnick off to where the entire district is waiting for him. Finnick stands on stage, Mags looking down at him, as everyone cheers. The applause is more bracing than what he received during his interview with Flickerman. 

He doesn't want to, but, unbidden, he looks for her in the crowd. He doesn't see her.

He starts off on the cards for this one, too, but ends up veering off track. He can't do this to Mags, he realizes. His final words about her can't be written by someone else. His speech ends up being mostly her eulogy. It's refreshing to say something true for once. He doesn't need to lie to tell everyone what a wonderful mentor Mags was – not only to tributes, but to the entire district. She was everyone's grandmother, did whatever she could to help anyone. If there were more people like her in the world, the world would have been a better place. (Because the Hunger Games would never be able to survive in them then, but that part does gone unsaid.)

He's shaking by the time he's pulled off stage. Everyone around him is crying. The mayor pushes a hand onto his shoulder.

“I know it's been a long time since you've been home,” he says. “We thought you might want to see your family before dinner. I can stall a little.” The man is empathetic, thinking he's giving Finnick something. He is, Finnick knows. But his entire body has gone cold all the same. His blood thrums with awareness: Annie, Annie, Annie. 

He hikes up the dunes to Victors' Village on his own. He stops near the entrance, looking at the circle of houses in front of him. Mags' stands glaringly empty. Next to hers is his, which, even from where he's standing, is teeming with activity. He can hear voices carrying from it, the smell of bakery. He walks slowly toward it, and is surprised to see his oldest sister standing on the porch. 

Aerona hasn't spoken to him in almost four years. He has a niece and a nephew that he's only seen in passing, but ever since she started to understand the extent of what was expected of him in the Capitol, she hasn't trusted him. She's a rare outlier in their family. He wonders why she's even here.

“The mayor said we all had to be here,” she says, as if she knows what he's thinking. She stands, arms crossed in front of her. “Congratulations.”

He nods, but looks toward the house, wondering if Annie is inside. 

“Finnick?” Aerona asks abruptly.

“Hrm?” he returns, realizing that they've been standing there longer than he's meant. He looks back toward his sister. She's frowning. Her gaze has fallen to his hands, which are still minutely shaking. He shoves them into the thin pockets of his trouser pants. She looks like she's about to say something further, but then doesn't.

“Will you do something for me?” he asks. The corners of her mouth tug further downward, distrust lining her face. 

“What?”

“Take care of Annie, please,” he answers. A point of contention between him and his sisters has always been Annie. They love her, unabashedly. They love her more than him, now. And none of them have ever understood why she stays with him when the rumors leak out of the Capitol about what he's done and who he's with. In the saga of his family, Annie is his turning point: when he went from playful, immature victor to the disrespectful and inhumane playboy. 

Even now, Aerona eyes him warily.

“What are you doing?” she asks. 

It occurs to him that he could tell her the truth. That's always been an option of sorts. But it's rarely one he goes with. Why should it help him here and now? So, instead, he doesn't answer Aerona at all. He goes inside. He knows that Aerona will do what he's asked, in spite of him being the one who asked it.

Once he's in the house, his family swallows him. The room is mostly full of cousins he doesn't remember, but who are all proud to name him as their relation: They can reap the benefits without any of the negative repercussions his immediate family deals with. His father and his other two sisters linger near the back of the room. He placates and smiles here, doesn't dare to take off his Capitol mask now. This used to be a sanctuary, but not anymore. 

Still, they only claim him for a couple of moments. Implicitly, he knows it's because Annie is upstairs, and they think he will want to go to her as quickly as possible. So, he's released. He takes each step slow, lingering. (When he left, a lifetime ago, he'd walked down them the same way.) But just like then, he reaches the top before he's ready. He turns in the hallway, rests his fingertips on the first door, and it slowly opens. 

She's there. Just the sight of her, just her mere presence hits him so hard that he can't breathe. He's not ready for this. She's the only thing that kept him alive throughout the Quarter Quell, and he's clung to every memory of her desperately in the weeks that followed. 

She's cross-legged on their bed, wearing a light green dress that just covers her knees. Shells are spread out in semicircle in front of her. She looks up slowly to where he's standing in the doorway, hair falling over her shoulders. Her eyes widen, and she looks, for a moment, as if she can't believe that he's actually standing in the doorway. But then Annie's up, dropping whatever she had been holding in her hand, scrambling forward. Her bare feet hit the ground audibly. She shies, just for an instant, when she reaches him, as if uncertain as to whether or not she should touch him. But then she propels herself the rest of the way. Her arms wrap around her neck. She buries her face in his chest; he hears her whisper his name. 

He wants nothing more than to hug her in return, with the same ferocity and need. But he restrains himself, which is nearly impossible, the most difficult thing he has ever done. For every memory he's gone over a thousand times, it's nothing compared to the reality of her. Nothing compared to the way she slides her fingers around the back of his neck and then forward, across his collarbone and the hollow of his throat. (Noting, he's sure, that he isn't wearing anything she's made him.) Nothing compared to the way she smells, like sea salt and vanilla and everything he's come to associate with home and safety. 

She pulls away just enough to press both of her hands to his face. This is what she always does: looks up at him, seeing straight through him to assess how badly he's hurting. He can't stand it though. He looks away, raising his own hands to tug hers away.

“Finnick?” she asks slowly, suddenly keying into the magnitude of how wrong things are. Fear tinges his name. 

“We should talk,” he answers, hates every word. He lets go of her hands. She holds them in front of her for a moment, obviously not sure what to do with them. She looks as if she might try to touch him again, but then she curls her fingers in against her palms. 

“Look at me, please,” she answers, her voice gone high and wavering. It's the same way she sounds when she surfaces after being terrorized by memories of her games. He never thought he would provoke the same emotion in her. He stares stubbornly at the corner of the room. 

“Listen,” he says, and he uses his Capitol voice, the one where the vowels are different. The one that she's told him time and time again that she hates. “I've chosen to stay in the Capitol.” It's only now, once he's too far in to stop, that he manages to look at her. (God, she's beautiful.) He keeps his mask firmly in place, even though she's always been able to read through them. “So, I don't need to pretend with you anymore.” 

His words are a physical blow to her. She actually takes half a step away from him, grows small. Her gaze flits away and becomes distant for an instant. 

“Finnick,” she whispers, and closes the distance between them again. He steels himself against this, against the quiet press of her hands. She's struggling with her words, he can tell. She wants nothing more than to sink to the ground, press her hands over her ears. But she's fighting it. For him.

“What has he done to you?” she asks. One of her hands is against his face again, and the other is underneath the thin fabric of his shirt, pressed over his heart. The tips of her fingers brush over the knot of scar tissue from Katniss' arrow.

“Nothing,” Finnick answers, training his face into indifference. He doesn't bother to pull her hands away this time. “This is my choice. I'm a victor _twice_ now, and I can live where I want. I don't need to be here. You were just a distraction, Annie.”

Tears well at the corners of her eyes. (He hates himself. Dear God, he's never hated himself more than he does in this moment. Not the first time Snow sent him into someone else's bed; not when he realized that he loved her and couldn't keep himself from being with her; not when he couldn't save Mags or Katniss or Johanna. He is disgusting. She'd always been the only thing he'd ever done right in his life. Getting her out of the games, and then managing to keep her mostly hidden in Four. But he knows that none of that will ever hurt her the way he's hurting her now. It's the only way he knows to make her move on. To not wait for him, to not become a ghost in this house.) 

“I love you,” she says it like it's the strongest argument. She leans in, kisses him desperately. She's still crying and he can taste the salt on her lips. He doesn't kiss her back.

“I don't love you,” he answers, stalwart. 

She stares up at him, and her hands fall. She balls them into tight little fists and hits him on the chest, but with no actual strength. 

“Not this, Finnick,” she cries, lets her face press into his chest. She's sobbing now, broken little wretched noises that he hasn't heard in a long time. “Don't do this. _I waited_.” 

The last two words pierce through his heart. He knows she did. She had promised him that she would love him, how ever he came home, just as long as he came home. He wants to give in, he wants to wrap his arms around her and press a kiss to the top of her head, and say that he's sorry, and that he doesn't mean it, and no, not this, not ever this. But he doesn't. But neither can he stay, because he knows he'll give in. 

He pulls away. He turns without saying anything else and heads back down the stairs. Behind him, he hears the thump of each of Annie's knees hitting the ground. Her ragged sobs follow him down the steps, his name interwoven every few seconds. He expects her to run after him, and he prays that she won't. 

He takes the back door out, not able to face anyone else. His feet feel unsteady beneath him, and he wants to collapse into the sand. But he makes himself take step after step. He's surprise to see Haymitch when he comes back out onto the main street in Victors' Village. Haymitch looks at him, suspicion creeping onto his ragged features.

“What did you do?” Haymitch asks, frowning, his eyes floating back to Finnick's house, as if he can see Annie from here. 

“What do you think I did?” Finnick challenges. He knows that Haymitch doesn't deserve any of his anger, but he's any easy target. He's the only person surrounding Finnick who he can easily direct his anger toward without any fear of retribution. He's the only person living who has an accurate idea of what Finnick is going through and that alone makes Finnick hate him. 

Haymitch scoffs, and Finnick can't tell what the noise is supposed to mean. He swings about all the same, hits Haymitch hard, once, on the nose. Haymitch collides with the ground hard, blood spurting down the front of his shirt. Finnick remains ready, fists balled in front of him. He expects a fight, because Haymitch always seems to be angling for one. Instead Haymitch just laughs on the ground, denying Finnick. (It's pointless, he knows. Haymitch is too old, too out of shape, for this even be a contest.) 

“Why are you even here?” Finnick snaps instead. 

“You already know why I'm here,” Haymitch answers lazily, swiping the blood underneath his nose with the sleeve of his jacket. 

He does. Because he can't leave. Because he can't go back to Twelve. Because Snow won't let him or because he can't stand seeing the families of dead tributes or the tributes yet to come. So, instead, he's stuck babysitting Finnick, making sure that he's kept alive. This is the last stretch of their lives, and they're tied together for it. 

Finnick sighs and then offers a hand to Haymitch. Haymitch, to his credit, takes it, sways on his feet for a second. He doesn't ask how Annie is. 

They trail down to the beach where the feast is waiting for Finnick. He stares at the water in front of him, at the sun sinking down into the ocean. He pointedly doesn't think of Annie weeping on the floor in the place that was once his home. He feels a chapter of his life closing, knows it to be all the best parts. He lets it go, because he doesn't know what else to do. 

He is a victor twice now, and nothing in his life is his own.

…

He doesn't see her again. He goes back to the Capitol, where, as Snow promised, an entire house has been made up for him. The fucking thing has wings, an entire pool, with heated sea water, in the basement. He does laps after he comes back from clients, trying to run away from his own thoughts. He tries not to sleep, because the nightmares have come creeping back into his life. He dreams of the Quarter Quell. Some nights it's Mags, pierced by Katniss' arrow. Some nights it's Johanna, apologizing to him. (He hates her. He hates her because she knew what she was doing, what she was sending him back to. And, God, does he miss her in the same breath. She was his best friend.) 

He has weeks' worth of dreams about Katniss. Some nights, he spends entire dreams in the jungle, trying to follow after her. He catches glimpses of her, the end of her braid, a flash of an arrow. He never catches her. Sometimes, in his best dreams, she manages to hit him in the throat with her arrow, and he wakes up, gasping, choking. 

Mostly, he dreams of Annie. Crying on the floor of their bedroom until a thousand jabberjays fly out of her throat. 

It's those dreams he can't stand, that send him stumbling from his bed and back into the pool. He swims throughout the night and runs as soon as the sun is up. 

Melia and Haymitch live in the house too. He barely sees Haymitch, but there seems to be a steady stream of alcohol coming into the house, so he trusts that the man's still alive. Melia hires an assistant, something she's never required before, but then he's never lived in the Capitol full time before either. It requires a line of new clothing at an unbridled rate. (She also has to have jewelry made for him. Before he'd always worn whatever Annie had made for him. But the only piece he has now is the shell necklace she made before he went into the Quarter Quell. He keeps that hidden, tucked away in the back of a drawer. He takes it out only in the middle of the night, only when the pain of losing her has barbed so deeply that if he doesn't do something, he'll end up killing himself.)

He's in such high demand when they first come back that they can hardly keep up. He's the victor of victors, and his price surely had to have gone up, but still people buy him. (And with the higher price, the expectations have risen too. His third week in, he's beaten so badly that he can't walk out of a hotel room.) 

His schedule finally starts to slow as the next set of Hunger Games approaches: He suspects that's more because Snow intends him to mentor than because of interest. A brash 17-year-old volunteers from Four, built bigger than Finnick. He styles himself after Finnick, is too bold, and Finnick can't help hating him. He tries, he does, to give the kid good training all the same, but in his gut, he knows that it doesn't matter. 

(And it doesn't. The boy dies in the Cornucopia, taken out by the pair from Two.)

It's remarkable how unremarkable these games are. Nothing to show how hard a group of people fought to stop them. The victor is the girl Career from One, who almost effortlessly pits the boys from One and Two against each other.

Finnick watches the whole thing numbly from where he's being made up for another night out. 

This becomes the routine of his new life. He doesn't think about sunsets at the ocean, or a girl that he tried to save from the games. He doesn't think about a woman who loved him so much that she couldn't bear to let him die: saved him twice, even knowing what he was coming home to. (Why? He thought he'd understood when he was 20, but facing it again, at 24, he realizes he doesn't.) He doesn't think about the girl on fire or the baker's boy, or about the rebellion that almost was. 

He thinks about getting through the night. He thinks about smiling right, about guarding his body from the worst of the blows. He thinks about getting his next high. He thinks about oblivion, which surely must come. 

A few months after the 76th Games, Finnick is in the pool doing laps a little after three in the morning. He surfaces at the end of the pool and is surprised to see Haymitch tottering at the edge. 

“Are you sober?” Haymitch asks as Finnick comes to a stop, resting his arms on the lip. Finnick laughs.

“Are you?”

Haymitch doesn't even dignify him with a verbal answer. 

“Annie's getting married.”

Finnick finds himself underwater. He doesn't realize that he's let go of the lip of the pool, that he's stopped kicking. He blinks, trying to sort out what just happened. He's even more surprised to feel a pair of hands grab clumsily at him. He resurfaces, coughing. Haymitch is kneeling in front of him, the knees of his pants soaked. He eyes Finnick. 

Finnick breathes slowly and actually processes what Haymitch has told him. He wants to say that that's ridiculous. It hasn't even been a year since he left her. The knowledge eats at his insides, tears at his gut and his heart equally. But hadn't this been what he wanted? She would always be the love of his life, but he hadn't needed to be the love of hers. 

“Who?” he asks, even though he doesn't want to know. But he has to all the same. Because it is better if she's marrying him, whoever he is, out of love. He can't bear it if is anything else. 

“Some son of a bitch who sells fruit down in Four,” Haymitch says, sitting down, dunking his still clothed legs into the pool. He holds out a bottle of whiskey to Finnick that Finnick hadn't noticed until now. He doesn't really need it. He knows it won't help, but he takes it in anyway, drinks until the burn of the liquor starts to abate.

He doesn't ask how Haymitch gets his information, but knows it has to be true.

“He'll take care of her,” Haymitch says finally. Finnick nods. He rests his forehead against the lip of the pool and fights the tears he knows he can't shed. 

Haymitch doesn't say anything else. He doesn't lie to Finnick. He doesn't say that everything will be okay. The two of them are a wreck. They've lost everything. But he's saved Annie, and that's the only thing that makes this remotely okay. Even if he never sees her again.


	4. Chapter 4

A week after the end of the 80th Hunger Games, a few weeks before Finnick's 30th birthday, the bombing starts. 

The only reason Finnick isn't caught in the heart of it is because it's the middle of the day. He's asleep back in his apartment, and wakes only briefly to the shaking of the house. Particles of dust rain down on him. He looks up at it belatedly, and then rolls right back over, shoving his head underneath the pillow.

He will wake later, expecting to go to an appointment, to find that the Capitol has been shut down entirely. Electricity has been cut off to the city, so everyone sits in the dark, just waiting. Hundreds have been killed in the bombings during the day; the hits were strategic, destroying buildings full of bustling workers – mostly government-related jobs or media-related jobs. The television hums with static.

Finnick feels almost nothing about what's happened. He, Melia, and Haymitch sit on the lower level of the house, but don't talk. Haymitch is drunk. Melia sits with a hammer perched in between her hands, waiting. For what, Finnick doesn't know. 

The streets are quiet. Every now and then, someone will wander up in front of the house, looking lost. (Around midnight, a woman walks down the street, wailing. At three, someone rattles the front door, and Melia sits up straighter, clenching her hands more tightly around the hammer. Haymitch doesn't even wake. Finnick just stares at the door with disinterest; maybe that's why Melia has chosen to keep the hammer on her. A better weapon than two victors, that's for sure.) 

Finnick falls asleep for an hour or so. At dawn, they can hear the pounding that means more bombs are being dropped. Melia's lips are thin, her face pale and drawn, but she doesn't cry. Not even when the bombs begin to drop closer to them. A long crack forms in the ceiling, and plaster dusts Finnick's hair.

(Is this it? He wonders. Is this how I die?) 

He will never admit this, but he thinks of Annie. He thinks of Annie in early morning light, streaked with gold through her hair. He thinks of waking up on the beach next to her, both of them covered in sand. She would smile at him, shy, as if hadn't woken up next to him for a thousand sunrises before. And then they would kiss, a slow meeting of their lips. Her arms would wind around his shoulders, her blunt nails playing at the back of his neck. They would melt together, sun on their faces, tide at their feet. 

But, no; she's married now. And he's going to die in the Capitol. 

Melia attempts to make them breakfast, undercooking or overcooking things in turn. Haymitch and Finnick don't eat anyway.

The sound of the bombings stop just after that. The same eerie silence floods the street. 

It doesn't last for long though. Less than an hour later, the front door bursts open. No warning knocks, no doorbell. Just a sudden intrusion of people inside the house. Melia stands immediately, back ramrod straight. Haymitch squints, the only sign he's even still alive.

Finnick has no idea what to make of this ragtag group of men, who are most definitely not Snow's. (Snow's men are always dressed in white, as if Snow believes that he can depict himself as the side of good through mere appearance alone. Or maybe it's because blood shows up more starkly on a white background. It's hard to say.)

“Are you Finnick Odair?” the man at the front of the group asks.

“I am,” Finnick answers, because there's no sense in lying.

“We need you to come with us,” the man says, reaching for Finnick's arm. Finnick stares blankly down.

“Who are you?” he asks. 

“Commander Boggs,” the man answers. “President Coin's bodyguard.”

“Coin?” Finnick answers, and God help him, he almost laughs. He glances behind him at Melia and Haymitch, but neither of them are laughing, so Finnick hastily tries to swallow down the sound. 

“Coriolanus Snow is dead,” Boggs answers, and he's not laughing either. It's only then that Finnick starts to realize just what they're in for. Some part of him is ecstatically happy; he's hated Snow for a long time. (What he wouldn't give to know that the man suffered, that his death was slow and agonizing.) But he knows better than to start celebrating just yet. He's a victor, and he knows better than most that there's a price to pay for any ounce of happiness.

Boggs tugs him forward, leading him out to where two heavily armored cars wait. Finnick is escorted to the first one. Behind him, Haymitch and Melia are led out of the house as well. They're both put into the second car. Finnick is sandwiched between Boggs and another soldier, kept away from the car doors. 

They drive through the heart of the city and Finnick can't help but peer out from the back of the car. The Capitol is a shell of what it used to be. So many of the buildings have been burned to their ground; just skittering metal skeletons remain, climbing toward the skies. Rubble is everywhere, and the cars just drive over it, sending Finnick tumbling in the backseat. The streets are still mostly devoid of people; a few bodies litter the ground. They pass a single person, a young man, who wears an askew wig and a wide-eyed, vacant expression.

The few buildings left standing are mostly residential buildings. Anything that contained a business or something related to the government is gone. They pass where the presidential mansion used to be: Now there's only a crater.

“How do you know Snow is dead?” Finnick asks as they pass.

No one answers him.

They're brought to an unremarkable-looking building on the outskirts of the Capitol. Finnick thinks it might have once been a school. A flag with an unfamiliar-looking crest flies above it. Boggs escorts Finnick out of the car. The second car is nowhere to be seen. 

Finnick is marched into this building. Once inside, there's finally signs of life. A few of the people wear the same dark outfits as Boggs and his team, black armor on top of black of clothing. But mostly are just wearing dingy clothes. Everyone walks with a certain sense of haste. They part way in front of Boggs, deferentially. 

They eye him as well, enough that Finnick can tell he's recognized. Whether he's a guest or a prisoner remains to be seen.

(He feels remarkably indifferent toward this, which he knows is not in his favor. He should care about what's happening, but there's a void inside of him since the Quarter Quell. It's where his survival instinct used to be: He doesn't care what's happening now because he doesn't care if he survives it or not.)

They walk through one set of doors, and the crowd begins to thin. At the end of this hallway sits a desk. It takes Finnick a moment to realize what's on top of it: Snow's body. Half of him is badly burned, but there's no mistaking the man. Finnick stares openly, but isn't allowed to stop; he's marched through another set of doors just behind the desk, and suddenly he's in an office.

A woman straightens when they enter. She's younger than Finnick would have expected – younger than him, even. Her hair is a nondescript chestnut brown with a razor sharp edge that comes just past her chin. She would be utterly unremarkable if it weren't for the way everyone acted around her.

“You must Finnick Odair,” she says cooly, crossing the room to stand in front of him. She extends one small hand.

“Yes,” he answers, taking it in turn; he doesn't try to charm her, because she seems to be the type of woman who likes to pretend herself immune to his charm. (He thinks of Johanna Mason for the first time in years.)

“I'm Mareeta Coin,” she answers, and lets go of his hand. The rest of the men file out behind them. Only Boggs remains, statuesque near the doorway. Mareeta returns to her earlier position, but gestures with one hand for him to take a seat. Finnick glances belatedly back over at Boggs, but moves to the chair, sinking down into it.

“I'm sorry,” he says, tacking on a smile because he doesn't know what else to do. “Who are you people?”

Mareeta looks nominally surprised to hear this, but largely nonplussed. She looks at Boggs for only a second, and then back at Finnick. She also smiles, but the action is obviously not natural for her.

“We're from District 13,” she answers cleanly. “Now we're the new ruling government of Panem.”

Thirteen. Finnick doesn't even try to hide his own surprise. He hasn't heard anything about District 13 since the failed rebellion during the Quarter Quell. He hadn't ever expected to hear anything out of them again. For awhile, he thought that perhaps it was a story that Plutarch had even made up, maybe just to increase tensions during the Quell. 

“You left us alone for years,” Finnick answers, fighting back the tide of anger that rises in him. “And you just now thought you'd come here and destroy everything?” 

“No,” Mareeta says flatly. She doesn't avoid meeting his gaze for a moment. “It was my mother's policy to avoid interference in the Capitol. She didn't believe that we would be able to take control. My tactics are quite different, obviously.” 

Silence descends. Mareeta leans back in her chair just a little. She appraises him, not bothering to hide what she's doing.

“You're a very popular victor here, Finnick,” she says. Her tone implies something else. 

“So I've heard,” Finnick answers neutrally. She wants something, but Finnick isn't sure what yet. She smiles faintly.

“This is what's going to happen,” she says. “I'm going to announce to Panem this afternoon Snow is dead, and that myself and my government have assumed power. I would like this transition to go as smoothly as possible. I've been informed that you have information that could help make this transition even smoother. Facts about Snow and his staff that illustrate the corruption and contempt he ran Panem with. In exchange for this information, Finnick, I will allow you to return to your home in District Four, maintain whatever wealth you've accumulated up to this point, and will never make you work for me in the same way that Snow did.” She pauses. “If you decide to withhold anything, I will have you tried for treason as a member of Snow's inner circle.” 

This isn't a hard decision for Finnick. Hell, he'd probably give her the information even if she was going to kill him at the end.

“What about Haymitch and Melia?” Finnick asks.

“If you comply, I will allow them to leave as well,” Mareeta answers.

“I'd prefer to go to District 12 with Haymitch,” Finnick says; he doesn't know where the comment comes from, but he knows he has no place left in District Four. 

“Wherever you want,” Mareeta answers, waving a hand.

“All right,” Finnick agrees. 

They record everything he says and he talks for hours – right up until Mareeta Coin goes live on television, proclaiming herself the savior of Panem. 

He doesn't really expect President Coin to keep her word. He's had enough lies from gamemakers and presidents to last him a lifetime. But the next morning, he finds himself on a train with Haymitch and Melia. They're going to District 12. The train contains a squad of Coin's men, sent in case there's any trouble in the districts. They also bring supplies to the outlying districts – food, clothing, building materials. 

Finnick can't tell if Haymitch has any feeling about returning to his old home. He drinks, the same as always does, during the train ride, and is nearly fall-down drunk by the time they pull into the station. The last time any of them was here was during Finnick's Victory Tour for the Quarter Quell. If anything, things look worse. Twelve was always amongst the poorest of districts, and it seems like Snow had continued to punish the people long after Katniss Everdeen. 

A crowd is waiting at the station. They don't cheer when Coin's men begin to unload the supplies. They watch with the same numb expression, also clearly afraid to believe that things might be changing for the better. 

Finnick helps out Coin's men while Melia takes Haymitch up to Victors' Village. They clearly recognize him here, but no one comments on it. He arrives in Victors' Village just before nightfall. The houses here are nothing compared to the house he left behind in the Capitol. Most of them have fallen into disrepair, but it looks like no one will dare touch them. Only one has smoke coming from the chimney, so Finnick heads inside. 

Haymitch is already slouched down in his chair, but Melia has begun to clean out the house, setting things to order. It's stranger than not seeing her here: She's not wearing a wig, but has her dark hair tied up. In retrospect, Finnick has no idea why she came with them. Maybe she feels safer tying her fortunes to theirs when things are obviously about to change. But Finnick doesn't ask. She doesn't offer explanation, but does this new work uncomplainingly. 

Melia scrapes together a meal, but the pantries are almost bare, except for liquor. That, there's no shortage of. She puts clean sheets on three of the beds. They separate without saying anything. It many ways, in their routines, it feels like nothing has changed.

…

Finnick wakes up the next morning and doesn't know where he is. He blinks groggily, and peels away the cheap sheets from his body, trying to sort out what's woken him. Pounding comes again. He meanders down the hallway to the front door. He looks outside. A young woman and a man stand on the porch. Finnick opens the door. 

It takes him a moment to recognize the girl standing in front of him – because she's not a girl anymore. Primrose Everdeen has grown into a woman in the years that Finnick Odair has been in the Capitol. She stands with a boldness that is copied from her sister, clearly not her own. Her hair, still lighter than Katniss', is tied back and held in that familiar bread. 

(He has a flashback of Katniss standing in front of him, hands shaking. Phantom pain pierces his shoulder. He hasn't thought about Katniss Everdeen in a long time. He presses a hand to his shoulder before he can abort the motion, finding the nearly faded knot of scar tissue.)

The man behind her is far older than she is – dark-haired and scowling. He doesn't look at Finnick but keeps his gaze on the ground near his feet. He has a clutch of arrows slung over one shoulder, a bow loose in one hand. 

“Do you want to buy rabbit?” Prim asks him. She holds up a string of the animals – all dead. She wavers through: “We thought you might need food.”

Finnick reads into the truth of it: They need the money. Victors have money. And money is always more reliable than a handout from a government they don't know if they can trust. 

“Right,” Finnick says, nodding. “Do you want to come in?” he asks, gesturing with one hand over his shoulder. (Belatedly, he realizes he's not wearing a shirt, just the pants he fell asleep in.)

Prim hesitates and starts to step forward, but the man rests a hand on her shoulder, shakes his head. Right. Finnick turns to get some money. They have to have cash somewhere, don't they? He doesn't bother to ask how much the rabbits are, because he knows he's going to overpay anyway. Not asking lets him do that without shaming them.

“Who the hell is here?” Haymitch grunts from the couch – apparently, he hasn't made it to a bed after all.

“Katniss' sister,” Finnick answers, trying to hide how flustered he is and failing entirely. 

Haymitch sits up, red-eyed, hair mussed. He looks like he might be sober. He squints at Finnick. There are probably questions that Haymitch wants to ask, but he can't put them to words – which is just as well, because Finnick probably can't answer them anyway.

“Do we have any actual money anywhere?” Finnick asks, starting to feel exasperated. 

“You're the one with a sack of diamonds upstairs,” Haymitch answers lazily, leaning back into the couch. 

By the grace of God, Melia comes downstairs at that moment. She looks at them, nonplussed, and then goes to a drawer and takes out several bills. She doesn't say anything to Finnick as she heads back toward the door. Finnick trails after her, feeling very much like a chastised child. (It's not the most ridiculous feeling, considering he needs a Capitol stylist to manage his life when they're all living in District 12.) 

Melia hands the money to Prim. She looks the girl over with the same intensity that she used to fit Finnick for suits with.

“Can you sew, girl?” Melia asks before Prim can leave. Prim glances at the man behind her. But then she nods, a touch shy.

“Do you want work then?” Melia presses. Again, hesitation before another nod. 

“Come back here tomorrow at noon then,” Melia instructs. She looks back toward the man then. 

“What's your name?”

“Gale Hawthorne, ma'am,” he answers, inclining his head toward her.

“And you hunt regularly?” she asks. Finnick stares at her.

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Bring us whatever you can part with,” Melia says. “Mr. Odair will pay you for it.” She looks down suddenly, counts out a few more bills and hands them to Gale. “And that is for you to tell anyone in town that they are not permitted to sell alcohol or chemical substances to Mr. Odair or Mr. Abernathy. Do you understand me?” 

Gale looks from Melia to Finnick, but then closes his hand around the money and nods. 

“I'll see you tomorrow, Primrose,” Melia says to Prim. She takes the brace of rabbits from Gale and closes the door.

“What are you doing?” Finnick asks indignantly. He stares down at her; he realizes that, for all the years they've been together, he doesn't really know her at all. She's been a shadow in his life, one that he has given less substance to than the Avoxes who filled the Capitol. 

“Do you not understand what's happened?” Melia asks, brushing past him to take the rabbits into the kitchen. 

Finnick follows after her; he feels the need to argue, but he isn't even entirely sure what he's fighting for. He knows that protesting her ban on alcohol and drugs will make him seem like more of an addict than he is. 

“The world is different, Finnick,” Melia instructs him without raising her voice. “We were valuable in the old world. But the world has changed, and so we have to find value in this one now. So, if I have to make clothes in District 12, I will do that. But you must know that you have to change too. President Coin has let you live, but you know that the worth of a victor is not worth what it was before.”

He continues to stare at her. She's saying less than she means: He knows by worth she's not talking about money. She's telling him they all have a second chance. (Implicitly she's also telling him that she followed him here, tied her fortune to his, but she's going to find a means to make it on her own.) 

She picks up a knife and takes it to the rabbits with more ease than he would have expected.

“You and Haymitch will sober up,” she says. “And then just _find_ something, Finnick.” She looks at him intently, and he feels the need to back down. She doesn't break eye contact though.

“You can both juggle geese for all I care,” she says, and that's the last of the conversation.

…

Unsurprisingly, Haymitch takes to the newfound rules about sobriety with far less grace. He mutters under his breath whenever Melia is near, and wears a scowl almost constantly. He starts to grow a messy, unkempt beard – although Finnick suspects that's mostly because there's a fine tremor in his hands that he can't seem to control. 

(In truth, Finnick struggles as well. At first, he thought it would be simple. As a teenager, he'd easily flipped between this drug and that, but had come back to District Four and stopped using anything without effort. But the last five years have been rougher on his body, and he feels as if he might crawl out of his skin for awhile. There is no one here to erase what it does to him either: For as much as he mocks Haymitch, he takes on a haunted expression for awhile as well. Dark circles bruise underneath his eyes. For all the Capitol has tried to keep him aging, he suddenly looks 30.) 

Prim also becomes a staple in their house. Melia hadn't been joking. Every afternoon, she teaches Prim how to sew, and soon they're making jackets, dresses, trousers – all things that Prim takes with her, selling to the other residents of District 12. Finnick has no idea how successful they are, but the clothes never stay, so he assumes something is being sold. 

He and his Haymitch usually try to avoid the pair of them. They're both scared of Prim, although they won't admit it. 

(Finnick watches them one day, almost by accident, from the top of the stairs. Melia is a surprisingly competent teacher. She's patient. It's a bizarre scene in his eyes: Melia had always been so impatient with him, and he's seen her work with all matters of odd materials. Now, here she is working in wool and cotton, following the same pattern a dozen times over. For the first month or two, they're quiet. Melia reviews Prim's work occasionally. But after that, Finnick will come down to find Prim chattering on in her quiet way.)

Gale always walks her to the door and is there at the end of the day as well. He doesn't speak to any of them besides vague pleasantries with Melia. (He still calls her ma'am.) 

Melia is the only one who ever leaves the house. Every Saturday she'll head down to the market and retrieve whatever food they need for the week. If what they're eating is anything to by, Twelve is slowly improving, built up by the support the Capitol is beginning to offer. Haymitch and Finnick barely leave the house. They've both become almost hermit-like in their habits. They ignore any news about the Capitol. They barely even speak to each other, other than for Haymitch's griping complaints about the lack of alcohol. 

And then one day Gale isn't there to pick Prim up. Melia comes and gets him, hands him his jacket, and tells him he's taking her home before he even has a chance to figure out what's happened. 

Prim stands on the porch, waiting for him. She's quiet when he steps outside. (He wants to tell her he's sorry.) Instead, he just starts walking. They loop past the statue that stands awkwardly in the center of the village. It's worn down from rain, uncertain of what it is any longer.

Finnick walks half a step behind her, because he's not entirely certain where he's going. It's about dinnertime, so there aren't many people out, but the few who are around stare at him unabashedly. He's been stared at for more than half his life, but now he doesn't know what to do. In the Capitol or Four, he would just smile. But he's acutely aware that he isn't in either of those places. (And for that matter, the worth of a victor isn't what used to be; Melia's reminder rings in his head.) 

“You're not what I expected,” Prim says, looking at him, almost curiously. 

Finnick glances over at her. He's not sure what spurred her to suddenly talk – and for that matter, why she offered up such an honest assessment. (Once upon a time, he would have had a clever quip and a charming smile ready.)

“Sorry,” he says instead.

“You're allowed to be who you are,” she says, sounding far older than she is. Or at least far older than him. She pauses. “Did you want to be in the Capitol all those years?” 

“No,” Finnick answers immediately. “I really didn't.” It's strange to be telling someone else this. 

“But you had to?” The way she says it, he isn't sure if it's a question or a statement. He wonders how much she knew of what happened to Katniss. 

She smiles faintly at him a second later.

“You don't have to tell me if you don't want to,” she says. 

“I had to,” he confirms anyway. 

They're quiet. The ground crunches underfoot. 

“Will you tell me what was supposed to happen during the Quarter Quell?” 

The question hangs in the air. Finnick's shoulder swells with pain.

“Not tonight,” he answers. He can't go back there right now. He leaves Prim at her door.

…

The days crawl on, and suddenly, less than a week after Finnick walked Prim home, Haymitch also leaves the house. It's like a flip's been switched. Finnick doesn't even realize that Haymitch is gone for most of the day. It's evening by the time he thinks to check on him. 

Realizing he's gone, Finnick begins a slow circuit looking for him. He expects to find him drunk somewhere, having bribed his way into liquor. But he doesn't. He has to walk past the perimeter fence, which is partially torn down, before he spots a familiar figure in the distance. 

No one else is in this spot. It's mostly open meadow, and a few birds fly off in warning when Finnick walks past them. 

Haymitch is seated in the middle of it, hunched over his knees, his hair sticking almost comically out from underneath his wool hat. (Made by Prim.) 

Finnick is still a few feet off when he sees the pair of headstones in front of Haymitch. He doesn't need to read them to know whose they are.

“Why are they the only two here?” he asks. Haymitch doesn't startle; he already knew Finnick was here.

“She liked it here,” Haymitch says gruffly, nodding toward the tombstone on the left. “And they figured he should be with her.” 

Finnick murmurs a response, more sound than an actual word. Just their names and dates of death are etched into the stone. Nothing else. Nothing to show what Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen almost were. Almost did. (Almost, almost, almost.)

Finnick drops down next to Haymitch. The ground is hard and cold. 

(They could talk: They could talk about how Haymitch never understood why Mags decided to bring him back. Haymitch had said, you know, you know Snow's just going to whore that pretty boy out. He ain't going to wait till he turns 18 neither. You bring that pretty little boy back and he's going to be sucking pretty little dick before his 15th birthday. They don't talk about how Haymitch had finally understood when Katniss Everdeen had shown up, surly and too thin. Too mean for anyone to like her, but with a gut full of fire that made it impossible for people to not be impressed with her. And then he had understood what it was like to think, maybe it's going to be them that changes things. Maybe I take this leap of faith on her. Maybe this is the kid that's gonna shake the world, turn the tide. Maybe hope's the only thing I got to live for even when it's a lie most days.)

They don't talk about anything though. They've both been the victims of hope too many times for it to mean anything now. 

The world has finally turned, but they haven't turned with it yet.

...

Finnick starts swimming out in the pond beyond the perimeter fence. He hates it. It's not the ocean. It's small and the water smells strange. But it's swimming, so he does it. He quickly realizes how out of shape he's gotten, and then he starts to run in the mornings too. At first he goes as early as he can, when the stars are just starting to disappear, trying to keep out of sight of most of Twelve. They still stare at him: the Career from Four. They don't understand why he's here.

But slowly they get used to the sight of him, and when he goes for his morning runs, they don't stare as much. 

And somehow, he ends up walking Prim home every day now, though Gale dutifully still accompanies her in the morning. He doesn't trust Finnick at all, and Finnick doesn't blame him.

“He protects me because he made a promise to Katniss,” Prim dispenses without prompting from Finnick. She has to be the only person in the whole country who still talks easily about her sister. In the history of Panem, Katniss Everdeen might have become a footnote, but she's one that's spoken of in whispers, with hushed reverence. 

(Some days, she'll just tell Finnick stories, about how Katniss was the one who could really hunt, and that's where she learned to use a bow and arrow. In her stories, Katniss is always the hero, the older sister who kept her alive in more ways than one. She doesn't bring up the games that have had the final say on exactly what Katniss Everdeen was.)

“Why didn't you go back to Four?” Prim asks, interspersing her questions about him unblinkingly – and almost seamlessly.

“I had nothing left there.” (He tries desperately not to think of her. He fails. He misses afternoons spent lying curled against her, both of them covered in sand. He misses the feel of her arms around him, misses the way her hair would be everywhere when he woke up. He misses the way she would smile at him when she thought no one was looking. He misses the laugh lines around her mouth. He misses her laughter. He misses dancing with her in the middle of the day. He misses her all the time, and it's too damn late to do anything about it.)

The day after that: “Why did you want to be allies with Katniss?” 

The answer, five minutes later: “I thought I could save her.” A pause. “I thought she could save me.”

They don't talk the rest of the way there. Finnick doesn't head back to the house after that. He goes out to the meadow, and sits in the long grass as the sun sets. The truth is, he feels like he's trespassing when he comes here. He hadn't known Katniss Everdeen well enough to know what she would think of him being here. (The odd truth is that he's known Prim so much longer.) The odd truth is that he isn't sure if he knows anybody any longer.

…

After that, Prim is a little more quiet about her questions. But a week later, she veers off from the usual beaten path, and they end up at a bakery. Finnick follows her without question. (He doesn't have to. He knows this. He could wait outside. Hell, he could even just head home.) 

Prim smiles shyly at the boy behind the counter, places an order. She and the boy – he looks familiar – talk while he fills the order. His eyes flit to Finnick every now and then but Finnick remains in the background. Prim takes her bag, pays him, and then they leave. 

Once they're outside, Prim takes one of the pastries out and hands it to Finnick. He's so surprised by this that he takes it without thinking. 

“Peeta's family owns the bakery,” Prim comments off hand. (Of course, Finnick thinks, feeling instantly stupid. _The baker's boy_.)

“They told us if we could keep Katniss alive, they'd get us out,” Fininck says abruptly through a mouthful of powdered sugar. Prim looks up at him. He doesn't know what's compelled him to go back through the Quarter Quell now. (Suddenly, he's back in Four, Annie weeping his arms. _I can't lose you_ , she'd said over and over again; it was as if she had never considered that she'd be reaped again. Just him. _I can't lose you_.) 

He wavers even now, not sure if he can keep talking. 

“They wanted her to be the leader of the rebellion,” Finnick says; he falls back on the tactic of smiling, although this one is clearly pained. “They thought the districts would rise up behind Katniss. So, we were supposed to keep her alive. And at the end, they were going to fly us to District 13.” 

Prim holds her pastry in her hand without eating it. Her face has gone oddly serious. 

“Why did they send you into the arena at all then?” she asks.

It's been five years since the Quarter Quell and he's never once asked himself that. (The truth, he feels shaken. He feels taken out at the knees.)

“It's not your fault, Finnick,” Prim says suddenly, gently. She rests one of her hands on his arm. And that's it. She continues on home then. 

Finnick's throat has gone tight though. He takes several seconds to catch up with her. 

Has he been waiting years to hear someone say that? _That it wasn't his fault_. None of it. Not that he volunteered for the Hunger Games, not what Snow did to him afterward. Not that he couldn't save Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark. It wasn't his fault; it was the fault of the men who put together the Hunger Games; it was the fault of the men who thought the best way to rule a government was through the sacrifice of children. Is that too simplistic? He doesn't know anymore. All he knows is that he's spent years blaming himself for what he should have done better, for what he should have done smarter. And in those years, it's never gotten him anywhere. 

So maybe it's time to let go.

…

Haymitch gets a pair of dogs. 

Twelve isn't much for pets, Finnick has learned. If anyone owns an animal, it's for food – handfuls of chickens flock around Twelve, much revered. He's heard stories about Prim's infamous goat. The Hawthornes have a pig right now that is more well-loved than most of the children in Twelve. But having an animal for the sake of having an animal is something frowned upon, if only because that animal is then another mouth to feed. 

The Hawthornes have a few dogs explicitly for the purpose of keeping their animals safe. Gale brings the puppies over on a particularly warm afternoon, one dog slung under each arm. They wiggle ecstatically, overwhelmed by the newness of their surroundings. They take turns licking Gale, mostly his hands. Every now and then one will rear up and swipe at his cheek with a pink tongue.

He brings them here because they're still the only people in Twelve who can consider an animal for companionship. Haymitch says he hates them. But that does little to deter the puppies from following Haymitch around as if he's their long-lost mother. Haymitch curses at them, and they bark happily in turns at him.

Well, that, paired with Gale's announcement that he'll have to drown them if they don't take the dogs, means that they're almost immediately part of the household. 

Melia and Finnick are the ones who have to train them, but it's still Haymitch they're in love with: And no matter what he says, Finnick catches him letting the dogs into bed every night. 

“It's good for him,” Melia says, and Finnick supposes he can't argue with that.

…

Prim finds him in the field one day, his hair still damp from his swim. She has a handful of flowers, some of them still trailing dirt from being freshly picked. She leaves half in front of Katniss, the other half for Peeta.

She sits next to him, her little knees pressed up against her chest.

“Do you like sewing?” he asks, a rare moment where he's the one asking the questions.

“We make good money,” Prim answers easily. 

“Do you like it?” Finnick asks again. 

“What does it matter if I like it?” Prim asks. 

“What would you want to do?” 

Prim looks back at him, a small smile of amusement on her face – as if he's being especially peculiar. 

“I would want to be a doctor,” she answers anyway. 

“A doctor?” Finnick echoes. Of course, most of the doctors he's encountered are Capitol bred, born, and trained. They're in that for the money – mostly cosmetic. The art of erasing victor scars. He suspects that she means it in the sense of helping people.

“My mom's a healer,” Prim says. “She's taught me some.” 

The rest of it goes unsaid: There's not much else she can learn, not here. Not out in Twelve. Undoubtedly, she's already mastered everything her mother has taught her, which will be based on herbs, how to bind simple wounds. How to end people's suffering who are beyond their technique. Any school worth going to is in the Capitol, a place she has never been allowed to travel to before. And even now that she could, the schools will be beyond anything a girl from Twelve could imagine paying.

They sit there for another half an hour and then Finnick takes her home.


	5. Chapter 5

He's out running, mid-morning, when he comes across Prim walking home on her own. 

“What are you doing?” he asks, stopping and trying to catch his breath. She should still be at the house with Melia; she's not due to come home for hours yet.

“There's a woman at the house,” Prim answers, and for the first time since Finnick has gotten to know her, she looks truly uncertain.

“A woman?” Finnick echoes.

“I think she's a victor,” Prim answers. Just by how she words it, Finnick knows she's a victor. He tries to keep calm, but his heart picks up a beat all the same. 

“Do you know her name?” Finnick asks; Prim is unerringly good at reading him even when he tries to hide things from her. Her gaze darts away from his. She doesn't say the name, but Finnick knows all the same. He walks Prim home, but his thoughts are in a thousand different places. As soon as he makes sure that's she safe, he sprints back toward Victors' Village. His pulse thuds in his ears, and he takes the steps to the house two at a time. 

He rips the front door open. Silence meets him. 

He walks slowly through the house. He doesn't think he's ever been this nervous in his life. (That has to be a lie, considering he's a twice-Reaped Career.) He hears the back door open followed by a peal of childish laughter. The puppies come tumbling into the house, barking and trying to get ahead of each other. Finnick walks toward the back of the house, and there's a little girl there, sitting on the floor in between each of the dogs.

Finnick's heart seizes in his throat at the sight of the toddler. He thinks she's around three, but he hasn't had cause to be around a lot of children, so he's not sure. She has sandy brown hair that he finds all too familiar. It goes down in waves to around her chin, and there's a bow sitting crookedly on the back of her head. Her eyes – Jesus – are a piercing and beautiful soft sea green.

“Hello,” she says shyly.

Finnick can't speak. He can't move either.

Voices float up to him. Melia and Haymitch approach the backdoor, one after the other. And then there she is. 

Annie.

She's in the middle of saying something, but stops when she sees him standing there. She just looks at him instead, as if she doesn't know who he is. (She's the same. Different – of course, but she's still the same in so many ways. He's seen her in so many ways: She was fit and lithe when she was Reaped, and then lost so much weight after she became a victor, becoming downright waif-like. She's put weight back on now, her hips rounded out. She looks softer, and her hair is shorter than when he last saw her. Years ago. _Years_. It's unthinkable, and he suddenly can't fathom how their lives wound up like this.) 

Melia looks uncomfortable. (Were they going to lie to him about her being here, he wonders suddenly. Was the plan to hide it from him? Has she been here before?) Haymitch just keeps walking.

“Why are you here?” he asks. (And, oh God, that wasn't what he meant to ask. Not like that.)

The girl on the floor laughs again as one of the dogs licks her cheek. 

“Edie,” Annie says abruptly, moving to pick her up off the floor. The toddler – Edie – lets out a whining noise as soon as she's up in Annie's arms, trying to wriggle to get back down on the floor. Finnick stares, because he doesn't know what else to do. What the hell is he supposed to do anyway? (The ring on Annie's hand glints at him, torturing him.)

Finnick turns around and walks out of the room. He almost heads up the stairs and then he realizes he can't be here. He can't do this. He's going to be a coward, and that's fine. He runs back out of the house, flees Victors' Village, and doesn't stop until he's past the perimeter fence and out in the meadow. He collapses down on the ground and shuts his eyes. He listens to his heart thudding loudly, and then, much to his own surprise, he starts to cry. Heart-wrenching sob after heart-wrenching sob is pulled out of him. He cries until he can't anymore; his eyes burn and his throat is raw. 

It's nearly dark by the time he works up the courage to go home. 

He trudges back. As soon as he's back in Victors' Village, he spots someone on the porch. He knows it's Annie, even from this distance. She's knitting quietly. As soon as she looks up and sees him, she stops. She gets up slowly, moving down the steps to meet him.

“I'm sorry,” she says, but she seems to have trouble meeting his gaze. She looks at his throat instead. “I should have told you I was coming. I should have...” She trails off, not knowing what else to say. Her eyes dart up, trying to read him. (She has always read him better than anyone else, and he knows she'll see his grief now.) 

“I didn't know where else to go, Finnick,” Annie says, and her own voice goes high, desperate. “If I could have gone anywhere else...” She stops herself again, but he understands all the same: If she had anywhere else to go besides him, she would have.

“Why are you here then?” he asks again, although the words are gentler this time. (It's impossible to not reach for her, but he keeps his hands at his sides anyway.)

Annie closes her eyes, and her lips go thin. She's fighting with herself, an expression he's seen a thousand times over. Whatever she's feeling, she pushes down deftly though. 

“A handful of Snow's supporters found us,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “Because I...” Because she's a victor, he knows. “And they tried to... They killed him when he tried to protect me.” She finishes, looks up at Finnick again. “And I was scared that if I stayed there, they'd try again.”

“Snow has supporters?” he asks in awe, unable to help himself. He understands there being reluctance in the Capitol – after all, they had benefitted from Snow ruthlessly mining resource and people from the districts. But Finnick never would have imagined that Snow would have lingering support in the districts.

“In Career districts, yes,” Annie says softly, voice barely above a whisper. She shakes her head, as if she can't believe he hasn't heard these things. “They – the ones in Four – think you've been exiled out here. That Coin is trying to keep you away from them.”

Finnick has no idea what to say to that. His gut twists. The idea that there are people out there, people who want to fight for Snow and want to use him as some kind of figurehead makes him sick. The fact that they came after Annie makes everything even worse. What would they do, he wonders, if they knew their precious president has been selling him, inch by inch of flesh, to the highest bidder? 

“Why didn't you to go to the Capitol? To Coin?” Finnick asks. A twisted smile forms on Annie's face. 

“A president,” she repeats faintly, and he knows well enough what she means: This is a woman Annie doesn't know. And every aspect of their lives, at one point or another, has been shattered by believing the word of a president or gamemaker. 

“Right,” Finnick says, because he doesn't know what to say. He thinks to ask her how long she's going to stay, but knows that won't come off right, so he doesn't. 

“I'm sorry,” he says instead, knowing the words are paltry in the face of what she's survived. She looks at him – really looks at him, and for a moment, it's as if nothing has changed. It feels like she's 17, and he's 19 again, and she's just come out of the Hunger Games. Wounded yes, but less so than everyone would say later. (She has a resilience unlike that of anyone he's ever met. She lets herself feel everything, yes, which means she shows her emotions openly, but she heals from them too. She doesn't deny her pain like the rest of them; it doesn't fester inside her.) 

In that moment, he thinks she's going to step forward and hug him, but the distance, a sparse few feet, remains firmly in place.

“It'll be just a little while,” she says finally, looking back at the house. “I needed a place where I knew Edie would be safe.”

“Right,” Finnick says again. “Well, we have plenty of room.” 

“Right,” Annie echoes faintly. 

…

After that, they pretend to be cordial with each other. Everyone else dutifully ignores the tension that simmers in the air whenever Annie and Finnick are together. 

Annie and Melia try to get along, they really do. It's just that, for so long, they've been on opposite spectrums of Finnick's life, colliding only at the worst of moments: Reaping Days and the rare occasion when Annie would be called to the Capitol while Finnick was working. Finnick thinks that Annie might be hurt just by Melia's presence here, but he learns swiftly that he doesn't read Annie as well as he used to. 

She and Haymitch get along well enough now that Hayitch is sober, but it's clear that they lack any true similarities besides both being victors.

Prim and Annie get along incredibly well though, and that helps to ease the atmosphere in the house. Annie joins in on the sewing, taking up her old habit of knitting. (And Prim takes to spoiling Edie.)

Finnick avoids Edie with a greater ferocity than Annie. The little girl scares him. She laughs all the time, seemingly unaware that anything is wrong in her tiny world. (She asks after her father every now and then, but with the same intensity that she asks where the ocean is every time they step outside.) She reminds Finnick painfully of Annie. Obviously, Finnick has never even met her father, but there seems to be very little of him in her. Instead, she seems to be Annie incarnate: She hates wearing her shoes, but tries to pad everywhere barefoot. (That is the only time she's stubborn: the infinite battle she and Annie have whenever Edie has to go outside. Annie will put her shoes on and within five minutes, Edie has pried herself free of them. Each one ends up in a strange hiding place. They either have to plan to leave 30 minutes in advance or make sure that someone is watching Edie – and her shoes – at all times.) Her hair is a constant tangle, no matter how many times Annie takes a brush to it. So, usually she doesn't. 

She's perpetually curious, attaching herself to each of them in turn. She balances her little chin on Prim's knee, watching her sew. 

Haymitch proves himself to be surprisingly good with her, even though Annie is hesitant to leave her alone with Haymitch. But Haymitch shows her how to help with the dogs. He makes the pretense of using his gruff voice with her, but no one misses the way his words are softer.

Prim brings up old toys and books – not many, but the few she has are neat although weathered with age. In the books, Finnick finds Prim's and Katniss' shaky, childhood writing. She stops by the Mellarks' bakery more often, bringing back sweets for Edie, who squeals happily every time Prim appears with the bag in hand.

Finnick tries to keep out of the house as much as possible. He feels like a trespasser in so many ways. There is a single time when Edie tries to follow after him when he takes the dogs out for a run. (“No,” Annie says, carefully catching her daughter. Edie protests for just an instant, and then Annie blows a raspberry on her belly, and she giggles, her arguments forgotten. Annie sets Edie back down, and she runs across the room. Finnick stands there too long, and Annie looks back at him, solemn, until he forces himself to leave.)

Annie and Edie have been in Twelve for nearly a month when the phone call comes. They're all sitting down to dinner – Prim, and even Gale, included. The ringing comes from the office, which Haymitch keeps locked. 

It's only him, Haymitch, and Annie who know what that sound means. Melia wrinkles her noise in confusion.

“What's that?” Prim asks, good-natured as always, peering over her shoulder.

A fine tremor starts in Annie's hands. She shoves them under the table, and Finnick watches her fight the need to just clap them over he head. 

He can't say that he feels much better. It's like the ghost of President Snow has just walked into their living room. Anytime he's heard that phone ring before, it's been bad news: Snow telling him he's being called back early, Snow calling to tell him who's mentoring the next set of games. 

He's still the one who gets up to get the phone. He breaks the doorknob and slides the door open. The entire room is covered in a fine layer of dust. Finnick wonders how long it's been since Haymitch has been in here. Unlike the rest of the house, which shows the wear and tear of having been inhabited for decades, this room looks the same as the one in Finnick's house – nothing changed.

He picks up the phone on its last ring, but can't force himself to say anything.

“Mr. Abernathy?” 

It takes Finnick an instant to place the voice: Boggs, the grim-faced commander who had escorted him to meet President Coin.

“No,” he manages, clearing his throat. “It's Finnick.” 

“Mr. Odair,” Boggs corrects. “Is Annie Cresta there?”

“Why?” Finnick asks, because he doesn't know what the right thing to do is. He suspects that he gives her away just through the question.

“We've had word that she might have been attacked,” Boggs answers succinctly. “We're trying to track her down to make sure she's okay. We've been informed she might be in District Twelve.”

The floorboards creak behind him. Finnick turns, and Annie's standing behind him. She bites at her lip, looks at him questioningly. 

“She's fine,” Finnick says. 

“Is she there with you?” Boggs presses.

“She's fine,” Finnick says again. 

Silence buzzes across the phone. 

“Finnick,” Boggs says. “We're aware that there's still resistance in some of the wealthier districts, but we're having trouble catching these people. If Annie could come and give us an accurate description of what happened, it would go a long way.”

Finnick doesn't answer.

“Please,” Boggs says, a word Finnick wouldn't have expected from him. “Talk to her. You can reach us by calling.” 

“Okay,” Finnick answers, for lack of anything better to say. The line goes dead.

“Who was it?” Annie asks, inching closer, her fingers picking at the edges of her sleeves. 

“A soldier I met in the Capitol,” Finnick answers. He hangs up the phone and faces her fully. “They want you to come and tell them what happened in Four.”

“No,” Annie says immediately, shaking her head. 

“Annie,” Finnick says gently. He rests one hand against the side of her arm, but she tugs backward as if she's been burned. 

“I think they want to help us,” Finnick says quietly. “They said they're trying to catch the people … responsible. I'd go with you, if you wanted. Keep you safe.”

“No,” Annie says again, just as quickly. She shakes her head this time, hair flying free from her messy braid. 

“What are you scared of?” he asks, trying to keep his voice as soft as possible. He understands the need to try and run from the Capitol as much as possible. This new government, as much as they're trying, is still unfamiliar. It's hard to tell how trustworthy they can be: And at the heart of things, they're victors, most abused by those in positions of power. It's hard to put trust in anyone, no matter how much the system changes.

Annie closes her eyes. 

“They'll take Edie from me,” she says. She presses a hand against her mouth, as if she can take the words back.

Finnick frowns.

“Annie, no one is going to try and take Edie from you,” he tries to placate. He had expected any number of responses, but he doesn't understand this one.

“You don't know, Finnick,” Annie says, and her words are far sharper than anything he's ever heard from her. A heat blazes behind her eyes; she isn't retreating now. She's fighting. She closes the door hastily behind her, as if it will conceal some of the noise.

“You don't know,” she says again. 

“What don't I know?” he asks, hands held out on either side of him.

She presses her hand against her mouth again, her knuckles riding against her lower lip. She keeps shaking her head. 

“What don't I know?” he presses again, more insistently. 

“Everyone just thought she was your daughter,” Annie says, and she presses her hands together in front of her, as if it will still them. “ _Everyone_ , Finnick. And I knew, _I knew_ , that if everyone thought that, _someone_ would come and take her from me. They would say I was mad and unfit, and they would use that as an excuse to take her away from me. But it would be because they wanted her because she was yours.” 

Finnick feels as if he's been physically struck. He stares at her, and she stares right back at him. 

“We hadn't seen each other--” he starts to say, trying to do the math of how long it had been between his leaving and Annie having Edie.

“I _know_ that,” Annie answers quickly. “I knew that. But no one else believed it.” She inhales shakily, smiles at him as if the action pains her. “You _left_ , and I was all alone. And then I met Evan, and...” she trails off again, and it takes her an instant to recover, to make herself keep talking. She says the next part as a whisper: “He reminded me so much of you. He didn't treat me like I was crazy. He made me laugh.” 

Tears well at the corner of her eyes, and he wants so badly to reach for her. He knows that had always been the most difficult part of coming back to Four for her: the way everyone was so timid around her, as if she would be set off at any moment. And that was part of what she had said to him when she'd quietly confessed her feelings for him. (“You make me feel like a person, even on the days when I'm not sure if I am one anymore.”) 

“But I was so used to you,” she says this on a laugh, her eyes directed upward. (He reads in between the lines here: When they were together, they never had to worry about contraception. He was a well-favored pet of the Capitol, and he couldn't be allowed to spread diseases or get someone pregnant on accident. The Capitol took care of all of that in yearly check-ups. She had never been on anything the entire time they were together.)

“And then I was pregnant,” she continues. “And I was scared. And Evan asked me to marry him, so I said yes, because I wanted Edie to be safe, and he was kind, and I knew he would be there.” 

“Did you love him?” Finnick asks before he can stop himself. He knows he's overstepped. Annie glares at him through her tears.

“Are you asking me if I loved him or if I loved him as much as you?” she asks. 

He doesn't know. The latter. But he's know that's not fair because the entire reason he left her was so that she could love somebody else. 

“He was kind to me, Finnick,” she whispers. (The answer: No. No, I didn't love him as much as you, but I loved him enough, and you hurt me beyond all belief.)

“And you weren't there,” she tacks on, and it barbs through him. 

“I know,” he answers quietly. He has no defense to this.

“You know?” she asks tremulously. “Tell me what happened,” she insists in the next breath. “Tell me what happened in the Quell and after.” 

He's told this story to Prim, and hard as that was, this is a thousand times harder. 

“We were supposed to save Katniss,” Finnick says. “And if I did that, they were going to take us all – you too – to Thirteen. But then, Peeta... I couldn't save him, Annie. As soon as he died, she turned on us. And Johanna and I tried to find her. But – I didn't kill Jo. I didn't kill her no matter what they said or showed you. But when I came back, Snow said I had to live in the Capitol all the time. I tried to refuse at first, you know?” He smiles brokenly at her. “And then he threatened to kill you. So I did what he said.”

She's crying now, unable to hold back her tears any longer.

“Why couldn't you have just told me that?” she asks, each word strained. 

“I didn't want you to wait for me,” Finnick answers. 

Annie casts her eyes up again, as if she finds the answer ridiculous. 

“Finnick,” she whispers, shaking her head. “You've never understood. _Never_. It wasn't your decision to make.” She crosses the distance between them and actually pushes him – with hardly any strength, but it's still an action that surprises both of them.

“If I wanted to wait for you – for five years or 10 or a hundred, who are you to decide for me?” she asks stubbornly. “You always thought that _hiding_ things from me was the same as protecting me. I knew you wouldn't always be there. I knew that I couldn't ask for fidelity. All I asked for was your love – and the truth, Finnick. Those were the only two things I expected from you. You didn't break my heart because you told me you didn't love me. You broke my heart because you felt the need to _lie_ about it.” 

Suddenly, they're both quiet. Finnick feels raw, and he suspects Annie feels the same. They're covered every painful topic that has plagued them over the last five years. And now he's scared, because he doesn't know what this means. 

(But God, he knows that he's not going to stand by and not take this chance. Maybe it's too late. Maybe it's not the right time – but it never has been for the two of them. The world was always at odds with them, but until he walked out, they had fought together. They had ignored the will of their government, the set of their stars.)

“I love you,” he says, and the words feel like they're being pulled from his chest. How many times has he said them before? How many times has he said that to someone else and felt nothing but disgust and contempt? When was the last time he said them to her? She was the only he said them to and meant with every fiber of his being.

“I have always loved you,” he says with more force. She is the other half of him; she is the force that has kept him alive; she is his salvation. What he feels for her is beyond what he can put into words. _I love you_ isn't enough: It never has been. It's something used so commonly, a lie by so much of the world. It feels irreverent not to have something stronger for what he feels for her.

She closes her eyes once again, tears streaking down her cheeks. 

He reaches slowly for one of her hands, just holding it. He doesn't dare to lace their fingers together. He leaves her space to pull away.

“You don't have to forgive me,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “I just need you to know. I love you so much that I couldn't bear to have you in danger because of me, Annie.” 

She nods, and then opens her eyes and looks at him. Slowly, she closes the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her chin rests on his shoulder. He's awash in the sensation of her. He can't help himself. He immediately buries his face in her shoulder. Her loose hair tickles his cheek, something he's sorely missed, ridiculous as it is. 

They stand there, just holding each other, for what feels like forever. And yet, it isn't long enough. 

He lets her go, slowly, reluctantly when she begins to unwind from him. 

“I need to give Edie her bath,” she says, seeming almost shy once again. (He remembers after she had said, _I really like you, Finnick. I have feelings for you_ , she'd been the same. He'd tried so hard to refuse that he felt the same way, but in the end he had to give into it. And she'd been aglow with the news. She'd kissed him hastily, and then blushed about it.)

“Okay,” Finnick answers. He lets go of her hand last. He still doesn't really know where they stand with each other – and for that matter, he doesn't know if they're going to the Capitol or not. 

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, and takes a steadying breath.

“Do you think Coin will help me?” she asks, looking up at him. She puts her trust in him again. It's terrifying. This is bigger than simply telling Coin what he knew: This is trusting their new president with Annie, who is far more valuable to him than his own life. 

And for that matter, it's not as if he's really tried to participate in this new world, despite how much he's cleaned up his act. He's hid out here in Twelve, and that's the truth of it. He hasn't much cared if Coin succeeds or not; he'd been busy drowning in his own pain. 

But once, this was what he fought for. Once, they would have both given almost anything to have someone besides Snow in power.

“I think we have to let her try,” Finnick answers honestly. 

Annie nods slowly. 

“Will you come with me?” she asks. 

“Yes,” he answers immediately.

…

He's aware of her wherever she is. She's like a beacon to him. He doesn't know what they are. He feels childish, like a lovestruck teenager. (But what he feels for her isn't childish at all.) He wants her with an intensity he hasn't felt in years. It's like the entire world is opening around him again – like after years of only seeing black and white, and her the color is again. 

He doesn't touch her. He maintains the distance, the parameters that she's set. 

Besides, the whole house is an uproar with the notion that they'll be returning to the Capitol. Haymitch raises his eyebrows at the announcement, arms crossed in front of himself. But he doesn't actually say anything, so this can't be the worst mistake he's ever made.

(And then, he makes things worse by mentioning to Prim that he she could come with to look at medical schools while they're there. Gale is livid. He wears an expression that clearly says he is thinking about strangling Finnick with his bare hands. But Prim says yes, much to his surprise.)

Annie frets over whether or not to take Edie. She doesn't say anything out loud, but Finnick can tell anyway. He understands: She's hesitant to let her daughter out of her sight, but that means leaving her behind, here. Is it better to bring her to the Capitol, keeping her close at hand, or better to leave her behind with people she isn't necessarily sure if she trusts?

It comes as no surprise to anyone that nightmares run rampant in the house. Finnick wakes up in the middle of the night after one of his own, drenched in sweat, sticking to the sheets. (He has long since mastered the art of suppressing his reactions to his nightmares: Those who were sold by Snow didn't have such luxuries. No one wants to wake up next to a thrashing victor, afraid of their own skin and shadow.)

Finnick presses his back to the wall and listens to the house creak around him. He hears a quiet whimper down the hall, punctuated by a scream. He knows that voice. He gets up without thinking about it, padding down the hall to Annie's room. 

He didn't stop to think that maybe he shouldn't be doing this until he was already inside her room. (Maybe she didn't want him here either, but he'd done this as long as he'd known her. This was the basis of their relationship, the careful way they both took care of each other. She'd slept in his bed when she'd come out of the games, because it was easier to be with someone when tumbling out of a nightmare. It was months after that, that they'd wandered into something else.)

“Annie,” he says gently, a quiet hand on her shoulder. 

She jolts upward, and then leans in on herself, her arms wrapping her legs. She starts to say a name – one that isn't his, before looking up and quickly amending it. 

The syllables hang there all the same, and the two of them stare at each other.

“Are you okay?” Finnick asks around the lump in his throat.

“I didn't mean to wake you,” Annie says, resting her head on her knees again, eyes shut. 

“You didn't,” Finnick answers gently. “Are you okay?” 

She smiles up at him in her sad way, and then nods. He doesn't know what to do now. He lifts his hand from her back and smiles in what he hopes is a reassuring way. 

“I'll just--” he tries to say and then nods toward the door.

“Finnick,” she says before he's even taken a full step. He looks back over his shoulder.

“Will you stay?” she asks; she's shy in so many things, but when she makes decisions, she knows her mind. She does thing in an absolute sort of way that he's always admired: She did that with everything in their relationship. Unafraid. He'd been terrified of everything. Terrified to love her, terrified to lose her, terrified to hurt her. But to her, only one thing had mattered: She loved him. She didn't lie about that to herself, and she didn't lie about it to anyone else either. It was her guiding principle. 

He heads back toward the bed. She slides across it, holding up the blankets for him to climb under. This is familiar and yet not all. They'd shared a bed for forever. They had tangled up in each other as if it was the easiest thing in the world, as if they had been made to fit together. It's that knowledge that intimidates Finnick now. He's acutely aware that he's not wearing a shirt, and that she's not wearing pants – something she seems to notice when he's under the blankets. 

She looks at him for a moment, her lips pressed together, and then she slides against him, rests her head against his chest.

“Is this okay?” she asks softly. (She'd always done this, after she found out about him. She'd always asked if something was okay. She had treated him carefully, but never as thought he was weak. Her body was the first place that Finnick had felt safe; she was the first time he felt safe in his own skin.)

“Yes,” Finnick breathes out. His hand hovers and then he lets his fingers run through her hair. His heart seems to pick up a beat. (This is like coming home; it's just as easy now as it had been before.) 

She looks up at him, head tilted back. He looks right back down at her, and becomes aware of when her gaze falls down to his mouth. 

She leans in and kisses him, the motion slow at first, her lips brushing gently against his. He stops breathing. 

“Promise me you won't leave again,” she whispers, her lips still touching his. She looks up at him, beseeching: He understands what this is. This is the only promise he needs to make to have her back. For them to be _them_ again.

“I won't ever leave again,” he promises, his voice just as hushed as hers.

But then she presses up more insistently against him, and he kisses him with a hard sort of passion. His hand tangles more insistently in her hair. She presses one of her hands against his neck, the other going to his hair, her nails digging in a little. She maneuvers herself so that she's pressed against him, their bodies flush together, chest to chest.

She gasps into his mouth, makes the most beautiful sounds he's ever heard. She doesn't stay still, not for a moment. Her hands wander down his chest, re-exploring his body deftly. (She'd never been shy in bed; she'd been comfortable in her body in a way that Finnick had admired. She'd loved sex. She'd never been shy about what she wanted, about chasing after it with a bold passion, while making sure that he was comfortable. She was vocal about what she loved, and equally so about anything she didn't like. And it was that that had made everything work between them.) 

Her fingers stray over the faded knot of scar tissue on his shoulder. They don't stay there for long, but follow down his chest, tracing a line straight down his side. (His own body starts to catch up. He drags a hand down her back.) She starts to rock on top of him. His breath catches in his throat; he's blindingly hard. He grabs hold of one of her bare thighs, and he's aware of just wet she is already.

“Finnick,” she breathes out. (And that is a sound he thought he would never hear again.) 

She leans in and presses her mouth to the scar. The motion of her hips is becoming a little more erratic, and he knows she isn't getting the friction she wants. (And he's suddenly, abruptly, aware that they don't have anything on them, and he hasn't been to the Capitol in awhile and has no idea if anything they did to him then still applies now.) 

He maneuvers her carefully back onto the bed. Her breathing is growing heavier, quicker. She keeps reaching for him, as if she's afraid that he'll disappear. Finnick slides down her body once he has her pressed against the bed, mouthing at each of her breasts in turn through the fabric of the thin T-shirt she's wearing. 

But then he's down, in between her legs, sliding her underwear off and tossing them impatiently out of the bed. 

“Finnick,” she says again, high and needy, both of her hands in his hair. He makes a quiet noise of comfort in the back of his throat and sucks a bruise to life on her thigh. Her entire body is tense; the more he touches her, the more of him she seems to want. 

He slides up, dragging his mouth over her flesh. He glances up at her, and she's already looking down at him. Her mouth is deliciously red – from their brief, bruising kiss, and from the way she's biting down on her own lower lip now. Her hair is a tousled mess, all over the place. He smiles up at her, unable to help himself, before lowering himself properly in between her legs. He licks at her, and she moans, trembling, before he thrusts his tongue deftly in and out of her. He couldn't stop now – not if he wanted to – and that's certainly the last thing that he wants. (God, he wants her. He wants her so much that he can't stand it; he's always been addicted to bringing her off. He'd touched her a thousand times over before he'd allowed her to reciprocate, but he's always loved the sounds she makes, the way she just gives in to everything, and isn't afraid to show it.) 

She presses her legs over his shoulders and begins to roll her hips, working with his rhythm. She moves one hand away from his hair and begins to touch herself. 

Her moans get breathy. (And he can tell that she's legitimately trying to be quiet. The walls of the house aren't that thick, and Melia and Edie are on the same floor as them.) She keeps trying to say his name though, unable to get it out all the way now. 

He grabs one of her thighs, increases the speed of his tongue. (He wants to stay here for forever.) But she's careening quickly toward her orgasm. The speed of her hand is uneven, her toes clenched against his back. 

And then she gives in, hips snapping up; her nails drag across his scalp in one of the most perfect sensations Finnick has ever felt. He tries to keep up with her, tries to drag her through every second. She's making soft noises in the back of her throat, and then her entire body goes lax and languid back against the mattress. She strokes her hand through his hair and moves her shaking legs off of him. 

He surfaces, presses slow kisses against her hips, but she tugs him insistently upward.

“I love you,” she whispers when he leans in to kiss her again; she says it like it's a secret. They kiss, entwined, this one slower. 

“I love you,” he answers in return; he's never taken it for granted when they've said it in the past, and he's not going to start doing that now. She smiles at him – one of the most genuine smiles he's seen since she's arrived in Twelve. 

“Can I?” she asks as she rolls him back onto his back. He nods, not even needing to think about it. She pushes her hand underneath his sweatpants and takes him in hand. (He's forgotten what it feels like with her; he's forgotten what sex for pleasure is like; he's forgotten what sex, as an expression of love is like.)

He groans, and she's still smiling, kissing along his neck as she pumps him. It takes almost nothing at all for him to come, spilling himself with a strained groan against her hand. 

He kicks his sweatpants off, and they curl up together, her head tucked in against his shoulder. When they fall back asleep, neither of them have nightmares.


	6. Chapter 6

Annie decides to bring Edie with them. They're a strange little group: Finnick, Annie, Edie, and Prim. They board the train to the Capitol early one morning, Melia and Gale lingering on the platform. Finnick tries to think of all the times he's been on this train before, leaving Four for the Capitol. More times than he can count.

There always has been something bad waiting for him at the other end of the line, and he wonders over how he's able to so calmly get back onto it. Annie wears her nerves more openly. Prim is excited though: This is the first time she's ever left District 12.

Edie, unaware of the turmoil her mother is going through, is also excited to be on the train. She spends most of the afternoon exploring the cars, tugging Prim behind her.

Finnick and Annie are slow and careful around each other despite what happened back in Twelve. When Edie and Prim leave, Annie reaches down between them, and her fingers trace the side of Finnick's hand before he twines their fingers together. He hears her breathe out, too heavy. They sit there, looking forward; no one is able to see they are holding hands, but the knowledge helps both of them. 

They remain like that until Edie and Prim return. At which point Annie lets go, pulling Edie into her laugh. Annie smiles as her daughter babbles on about everything she's seen.

They disembark at the Capitol with a large crowd of people who disperse quickly, happy to have reached their scenic destination. Annie and Finnick linger closer to the train until Finnick spots Boggs in the crowd. 

“It's good to see you again, Finnick,” Boggs says as he greets him. He holds out a hand that Finnick shakes. He still isn't sure if they're doing the right thing, and he knows he'll never forgive himself if he's accidentally led Annie into danger.

“Miss Cresta,” Boggs saying, turning to Annie. He looks at Prim last, and Finnick steps in to introduce her.

“This is Primrose Everdeen,” Finnick says. Recognition lights up Boggs' eyes.

“Miss Everdeen,” Boggs says deferentially, taking her hand as well. “It's an honor.” 

It's strange to think of all the things that might have been. It's something that Finnick tries not to entertain too much, but sometimes it's there all the same: How Boggs and Prim could have met under different circumstances, if Finnick had managed to save Katniss during the Quarter Quell. 

“President Coin would like to see you now if you're not too tired from your trip,” Boggs says. Finnick looks to Annie; she's already looking at him, but she nods. She holds onto Edie's hand the entire time as they're walked to one of the black cars lined up beside the train station. These are also all too familiar, but Finnick fights down that swell of emotion.

They drive through the streets of the Capitol, and it's strange what's the same and what's different. Of course, the Capitol had been heavily bombed. He'd seen that. Entire neighborhoods have been rebuilt, more for practicality than flair. But for all Coin and her government have rooted out the worst of the evils in the Capitol, so much of it still is opulent and gleaming. Finnick wonders how many of his former clients have slipped the noose; probably quite a few. If Coin had gotten rid of everyone who had been involved in the Hunger Games in even the slightest capacity or bought a victor, there would be no one left in the Capitol.

The new government building is strange: dark sheets of glass that seem to draw the eye to it even while trying to avoid gaze. It's dedication to distraction draws attention. Contradictions that run in counterpoint to everything Snow was about. 

Finnick steps out first and then helps both Prim and Annie out of the car. Annie picks up Edie, who fusses, wanting to continue running free. 

Boggs leads them inside. It's strange how much Thirteen has adapted and how much it's still the same: Their outfits are still militant and almost identical, but made of far finer materials now. Everyone is pressed and at smooth angles. 

Coin's office sits at the center, and everyone and everything moves in orbit around her. She smiles when they walk in, although it's lacking warmth.

“Welcome back, Mr. Odair,” she says in greeting. Boggs introduces Annie and Prim, and Coin welcomes then in turn.

“I'm grateful for your help in this matter, Miss Cresta,” Coin says. Annie takes Edie into her lap and bounces her on her knee, a way to disguise nerves that are abundantly obvious. Finnick wants to take her hand again, but he's not sure if he's allowed. They've spent so many years hiding that it's strange to think of doing anything so open. 

Annie manages to nod.

“Would you mind telling us from the beginning what happened?” Coin asks. She remains standing in front of her desk, leaned up against it, her arms crossed in front of her.

Annie nods again, breathes in unsteadily. Finnick settles for pressing a hand to the back of her chair; his fingers brush against her upper back. She looks up at him, just for an instant, but she seems steadier. She recounts her story in much the same matter that she told it to Finnick: A group of Snow's supporters had found her little family, had tried to take her and her daughter, and when her husband fought them off, they had killed him. She had fled to District Twelve, where she knew Haymitch and Finnick were staying (she says it like that, Haymitch's name before Finnick's).

“Do you think you would be able to recognize the men, Miss Cresta?” Boggs asks, mustering more sincerity than Coin.

“Yes,” Annie whispers.

Coin pulls a file from the top of her desk off, presents it to Annie. Annie has to relinquish Edie to Prim to take it. Her hands are shaking minutely, but she's trying to hold them still. Fighting, as always, against the emotions that threaten to drown her. 

“This is them,” Annie says after several minutes, handing the file back to Coin. Coin looks satisfied for the first time since they arrived, and nods at Boggs. 

“I want to thank you all for your time and cooperation,” Coin says succinctly. “Please know that we have every intention of bringing these men to justice. In the mean time, I want you to feel welcome to stay in the Capitol. We've made arrangements for your stay.” 

“Do we have to stay?” Annie asks.

“Of course not,” Coin answers. “You're free to move as you will, Miss Cresta. But I want you to know you have the full protection of my government.” 

Annie nods again, her lips pursed tight. 

“Boggs will show you to your accommodations should you chose to stay,” Coin continues, raising one hand to gesture at the door. 

Annie and Prim rise from their seats. Prim passes Edie back to Annie, and their group trails toward the exit.

“Finnick, a word please,” Coin tacks on.

Annie looks fretfully over her shoulder, fear lighting up her spine at the notion that Finnick is being called to stay behind. (She's seen this play out before. She's seen what it means for a president to ask him to stay behind.)

“I'll be there in a few minutes,” Finnick promises. He brushes his fingers across her lower back. She wants to fight. He can see it, but she goes anyway. 

Finnick returns to where Coin is waiting for him and sits down in the chair Annie had vacated. Coin's countenance is more serious now, something he didn't realize was possible. 

“I want to thank you again for how you helped me last time you were here,” Coin says. “I know that couldn't have been easy for you.” She says nothing of the fact that she threatened to have him arrested with treason if he didn't comply. When he doesn't answer, she continues.

“I think I need your help again,” she says. She passes him the file that she had given to Annie. “We've been trying to catch these men for some time, but they're proving quite elusive. They're comprised of those who were more dedicated to the Career programs in One, Two, and Four, and Capitol citizens who managed to escape. They've been trying to rally others behind them – primarily by kidnapping those they think might be sympathetic to their cause. If they prove themselves not to be sympathetic, they're put inside arenas with individuals who have gone through Career training. I'm sure you can imagine what the outcomes of such fights are.” 

They're trying to mimic the Hunger Games. It's a strange thing to realize, that there was really anyone who believed that the arena was the best way to make a name for themselves.

“Why would anyone do this?” Finnick asks, baffled. Coin smiles thinly.

“Surely, you must remember what it's like to be a young Career and buying into such a system,” Coin says; there's no bite of cruelty to her words. They're just point-of-fact.

Still, Finnick understands what she means. After all, he volunteered at 14, did he not?

“Will you help us, Finnick?” Coin asks.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks in turn. He won't make blind promises. Not anymore.

“I want you to go back to Four,” Coin answers. “They'll contact you. You'll meet with them. Once you do, Boggs and some of his men will step in and arrest them all.” 

He knows what his answer is going to be. He's not the same boy who won the Hunger Games at 14, or even the man who won the Quarter Quell at 24. He is out of shape. He hasn't wielded a trident in years. He has blindly abused his body with alcohol and drugs, and his sobriety seems to cling by a fingernail most days. But he will do anything to protect Annie Cresta, and that is a rule that he has always lived by. 

…

“No.”

Edie and Prim are up at the pool on the roof. Edie had begged to be allowed to go as soon as she had known. Annie had dressed her in a polka dot swimsuit and blew up floaties to put on her arms. Annie was about to get changed as well when Finnick told her.

“Annie,” Finnick starts to beseech.

“No,” Annie says again, and she puts her hands over ears, probably more for the familiarity of the motion than anything else.

Finnick closes the distance between them. He puts his hands gently around his wrists and takes her hands away from her head.

“I don't want you to go,” Annie insists. 

“I need to do this,” Finnick says. 

“Why?” Annie asks. She says the question as if it's a defense for her, as if Finnick can't possibly have a good enough reason for wanting to return to Four and take down the men who killed her husband.

“Because I want to make Four safe for you and Edie,” Finnick answers softly, cupping a hand against her cheek.

“Finnick,” Annie begs. “I wish you would stop giving people a chance to kill you.” 

The sentence hangs there, heavily in between them. For all of their new-kindled passion, there's a heavy sort of maturity that hangs between them now. Perhaps it existed when they were younger, but they weren't aware of it then. Now, they are.

“I don't want to lose you again,” Annie whispers. She wraps her arms around him, presses her face into his chest. They cling together, his face in her hair. They just breathe. They're oddly synchronized physically for how at odds they are mentally.

“You're going to go anyway, aren't you?” Annie tacks on. 

“Yes,” Finnick answers honestly. For years, he had done exactly as Snow commanded, been complicit, because he didn't think there was anyway to fight. But now here's his chance. He can do something, a small thing, to help make this world a little a safer, a little more secure. To help make himself more deserving of Annie's love. And he will do that, because he needs to. He's buried too many friends murdered at the hands of Snow's government. He won't stand by and allow anyone to hurt his loved one's in that man's name.

“Promise me you'll come back to me,” Annie says. She pulls back, stares up at him, the set of her shoulder stubborn. “Promise me that you won't take unnecessary risks, and that you'll take care of yourself.”

“I promise.”

“The whole thing,” Annie insists. “Say it.”

“I promise that I will come back to you,” Finnick says quietly, pressing a soft kiss to her lower lip, and then each corner of her mouth. “I promise that I won't take unnecessary risks or put myself in danger, and I'll take care of myself.”

Annie stares up at him, but seems to find whatever she's looking for. She buries her face in his chest again.

“You understand I can't bear to lose you again,” she says softly. She has one hand about his wrist, but doesn't seem to know what to do with it. She draws a soft pattern on his skin. 

“You're not going to lose me,” Finnick answers. He has no intention of dying now. Not after everything. Not when there's her to come back to: They have a future together, something that's promising for the first time in their lives. They're beholden to no one but each other. For the first time in years, he has something to live for.

…

They spend the rest of the afternoon in the pool, and sleep late the next day, sunburned and exhausted. Annie and Finnick share a bed and he's surprised when he wakes up to Edie wiggling in between them. Her head is pillowed on Annie' shoulder. Watching them again, Finnick can't help but marvel over how much Edie looks like Annie. 

They take Prim around the city the next day. (She is not wide-eyed and impressed by the Capitol, but takes it all in with a calm demeanor. She has remarkable poise that is reminiscent of Katniss. They go to a few medical schools, and Prim asks questions that Finnick can't even begin to understand.)

The day after he's told that Boggs and his team are ready to take off for Four. Finnick goes ahead of them, so as to not rouse any suspicion. Annie goes with him to the train station. This is a unique first, him leaving her behind in the Capitol. The opposite has played out: Finnick called to stay behind while Annie went on home to Four. 

They don't say anything to each other, because they've said all that's needed. He has promised to come home, and he will. They hold each other in the pre-dawn light. He's forgotten what it's like to be half of something, to be so completed by another person that speech becomes unnecessary. They kiss slowly, ignoring anybody that walks by them. 

She lets go of his hand slowly and then he's on the train, heading back to the closest place he's had to a home.

…

It has been years since he's been on the sands of District Four, but his body knows this place. His feet are steady on the sand; he feels himself waking up to the scent of the ocean on the breeze. He closes his eyes, basks in the sun. He makes sure a few people see him returning to Victors' Village. He needs the word to get out that he's here. Anyone who does see him just stares. No one tries to talk to him. It's as if he's an otherworldly being, a savior returned.

Much like in District Twelve, Victors' Village is one of the few places that's mostly untouched. He moves past Mags' house and to his own. The door is unlocked, and he wonders over why the place hasn't been ransacked. His steps echo. There are trace amounts of sand across the floors, but it's obvious that no one has lived here since he left. He wonders if his family left willingly or if Snow forced them out. Sheets are thrown over the furniture. His study remains locked. He wanders around for a bit, feeling like he's haunting his own life. His sisters' and parents' rooms have been cleaned out. His clothes still hang in the closet of his room, but any trace of Annie has been erased. Probably by her own hand, he knows. Her clothes are gone, as are any pictures of them or jewelry he made her. 

He goes back down to the study last, breaks the doorknob here too. He's surprised that he still remembers the combination to his safe, but his fingers enter it deftly. Inside, everything he had left for Annie in the event of his death during the Quarter Quell still sits: a small sum of money, countless jewels, and some pictures of them. One of the rope bracelets he made for her is inside as well. All things that he wanted her to have. But he had also pointedly left the money, whispering to her to use it to leave Four if she needed to escape. He didn't want her to give the Capitol any cause for suspicion by withdrawing a large amount of money. Of course, all pointless in the end.

He closes the safe again, spins the dial.

Finnick's abruptly not quite sure what to do with himself here. The only people in Four he would care to see are his sisters, and he's not going to track them down and bring unnecessary attention to them for them time being. He sits in the living room for a bit, and then heads down to the beach.

He strips down to just his shorts and then dives into the ocean. The water is bracingly cold, but it's a better welcome than anything else. He swims out, one mile and then two, and then turns and does the same back. He's breathing heavy, collapses on the sand, and smiles. He falls asleep there for awhile. When he wakes, he gets up, puts his clothes back on, and hikes to a small restaurant that's oceanside. The waitress is young, and appears not to recognize him. (It's a bizarre change of pace.) He orders oysters and eats them one after the other while nursing a beer. He gets a slice of pie when he's done, a scoop of ice cream melting on top.

The owner comes out and greets him, expressing his surprise and awe that Finnick Odair is sitting in his restaurant. Finnick just smiles, overtips the waitress, and then heads home. 

He falls asleep in his bed, which he is surprised to learn, still smells faintly of Annie. 

He's only asleep for a few hours when he wakes up to a hand pressed over his mouth. His heart pounds in his chest, a cold sweat breaking out along his body. 

“Finnick Odair.” His name is whispered with obvious reverence. Finnick can't see the man's face. He lets out a muffled sound in the back of his throat. 

The man releases him slowly, and Finnick sits up in bed, the sheets pooling in his lap. He's suddenly aware that there are a handful of people in his room, all dressed in dark colors, their faces obscured. They all wear a single white rose pinned to their dark shirts. Finnick's stomach tightens. He's been found.

“We knew she couldn't keep you from us,” a woman near the door says. And her voice is familiar. It takes Finnick a moment for it to click into place: the waitress. He's sickened by the recollection. She has to be a teenager, probably one of the many children trained in the Career program who now feels as if something has been taken from her.

“Can I get dressed?” Finnick asks coyly, falling into a character he hasn't played since Snow's downfall. His would-be kidnappers are gracious though. They exit the room, flock into the hallway while Finnick pulls on pants and a shirt. His clothes have tracking devices sewn into them. When Boggs and his men arrive tomorrow to find Finnick missing, at least they'll know where to look.

He walks out into the hall, and some of the group fall in front of him, and some behind him. He's surrounded on all sides by shadows. They head out into the night, down to the beach, where they climb into a boat. The boat skips over the water, and Finnick already knows where they're going. There's an island not far from here, a place where and Annie had often gone on afternoons they wanted to escape. 

Finnick looks at the stars as they navigate toward the island, picking out constellations that he and Annie used to make up stories about. No one tries to talk to him, not just yet. There's a barrier of space around him, almost as if they're afraid of intruding. 

Scores of people line the beach when they arrive, waiting for them. The sight of it intimidates Finnick, and for the first time he wonders if he's doing the right thing. He wants, very much, to help get rid of this group, but at the same time – they believe Snow was right in what he was doing. They are dangerous just because of that, and Finnick doesn't know what will happen if they don't buy into his act.

They disembark, Finnick first, and he's immediately swarmed by more people in dark clothes, all wearing white roses. The sight of them makes him feel ill. They touch him slowly, their hands dragging over his exposed flesh with a kind of reverence that is far more creepy than gratifying. Finnick puts up with it though, tries to mask how put off he is by the whole experience. 

He follows the lead of the group, which takes him deeper into the island. There are a few caves there, and that's where they've been staying it turns out. Some of them are on the island all the time, but most of them are just District Four citizens who return and masquerade in their day-to-day lives. 

Finnick is brought back into that cave, and it's there that they leave him. He isn't sure what he's supposed to do at first, but then he realizes there's a sleeping bag a few feet away. He crawls into it, stares into the darkness for a few minutes, and then falls into an uneasy sleep. 

When he wakes up the next morning, it takes him several minutes to realize where he is. The cave. Snow's followers. Right. He crawls out of the sleeping bag. No one else is in the cave, but as as soon he walks outside, there's a man sitting in front of a small fire, frying fish over it.

“Good morning, Finnick,” the man says with a wry smile. It takes Finnick a moment to realize just who he's speaking to. Alonso Slender, the head gamemaker after Plutarch. Finnick had no idea that Alonso was able to escape the Capitol. It's a disheartening blow, and Finnick feels his mask drop for just an instant.

“Please,” Alonso says. “Have breakfast with me?” 

Finnick nods, trying to look more steady than he feels. He drops down next to Alonso, who hands him a container of water and then plate of fruit. 

“You're quite the legend here, Finnick,” Alonso comments easily. 

“That means a lot,” Finnick answers amicably, pairing it with a bright smile. “I've always been proud to call Four my home.”

“Though I'm guessing most of Four never knew what Snow had you doing on the side,” Alonso tacks this on neatly, saying it the same voice as his previous comment. 

“I'd imagine not,” Finnick answers without missing a beat. It makes sense that a head gamemaker would know this. Gamemakers loved being able to buy victors, even if they could rarely afford it. They always felt like victors owed them somehow, as if they had been the ones engineering the victory instead of the injuries and deaths. They were among the most vicious of clients, Finnick found.

“They think you'll be a supporter of Snow's government being reinstated,” Alonso continues. He is watching Finnick more keenly now. “Personally, I find that hard to believe.”

“Is there a question there?” Finnick asks, still flirting. 

“No,” Alonso answers, flashing a smile of his own. “Just a warning. Everyone has to pass a test to be allowed into our ranks. I just want you to know that I see you as no different, twice-crowned victor or not.” 

“I wouldn't have it any other way,” Finnick answers. Alonso scoops the fish out of the frying pan and slides it onto the plate balanced in Finnick's lap.

“Good, good,” the man says. “Please, enjoy your breakfast.” 

Finnick spends the next few hours with Alonso, who shows him around the island like a tour guide, as if there is much to see here – and as if Finnick hadn't spent plenty of his time here before. Most of the people who are presently on the island are former Capitol citizens, and many of them are former clients of Finnick's. They faun when they see him; they are more easily fooled then Alonso. They may have had to buy him to be allowed to have his time, but they see him as a well-treated pet, and couldn't begin to fathom why Finnick might be interested in biting the hand that once fed him.

He knows some of these faces. They are part of the blur of the past; they are embedded under his skin even if he doesn't know their names. He is fine for most of it, dedicating himself to the parody of himself. But then there is a face that brings him up short: Savera Aldjoy. 

She is his first – first client, first everything. She and her husband sponsored his trident all those years ago, and he was given to them in turn. He was 15, and they taught him just about everything there was to know about the Capitol. They always had first right to him. If they wanted him for a week, for a month, to sell him for a fundraiser, to share with their friends, they were allowed it. There were no restrictions placed on the Aldjoys.

He feels like he's having an out-of-body experience seeing her here and now. She isn't wearing her wigs, and her hair is silver and long. She has it wrapped up in an elegant black scarf, and although she finally looks her age, she is also poised, placing herself above the ranks of those ex-communicated from the Capitol.

“Oh, my Finnick,” she says, holding one hand out to him. He doesn't know what to do with it, but then takes it carefully in his own and leans in, kissing the back of her hand. (He is well-trained on how to please her, and he knows that she'll be a good ally for him, especially with Alonso so suspicious.) Savera preens. 

Neither her husband nor her children are with her. (He wonders over where the kids are. He feels conflicted, because on the one hand, they are Capitol-raised and in the last few years had begun to throw their own pocket money around the games, enjoying their chance to play God. On the other hand, they were young, only doing what they had been taught to do. He knows what they would have grown into, the same as their parents. They would have had their own Finnick Odairs to train and torture, without a thought to their victors' suffering. But no matter what has happened to Finnick, he can't believe in the death of any child.)

“You are a sight for sore eyes,” Savera says smiling. She waves her other hand to her side, and Finnick takes the hint. He sits down beside her. 

“I have him, Alonso,” Savera says, an obvious dismissal. Alonso seems hesitant, but then inclines his head and leaves them be. 

“That man is so suspicious,” Savera says in a hushed tone. “They told us you would be coming. He said not to jump to conclusions, but I knew better.” She pats Finnick's hands. “I told him that my Finnick wouldn't have forgotten who was good to him.” 

God help him, it is easier than ever to be in character when around her. Finnick Odair the victor was really born under her making. He had been formed in the 65th Games, but had been forged under the tutelage of Savera Aldjoy. It had been in her bed that he had learned to smile even when he was in pain, physical or emotional. And he learned how to smile so that people thought he meant it.

He spends the rest day under her thumb; it's only then that he realizes this is much harder than he thought. He feels himself being swallowed by his own con. He's forgotten how narrow the line between himself and his parody is. It's easy to buy into his own facade. 

Near sunset the boats begin to return. Finnick spots them, dotting the horizon.

“We should get you changed,” Savera says easily. The comment catches him off guard, and he's too slow to react. She has his shirt off in an instant, and his pants follow suit. She throws them on top of the fire before he can stop her. He stares, an instant too long, as the only way he has of telling Boggs where he is goes up in smoke. The only thing he manages to retain is his necklace. (One made lovingly by Annie.) Savera passes him a black T-shirt and a pair of black shorts. Once he's dressed again, she smiles approvingly, steps in closer, and then pins a white rose to his shirt.

…

Dinner is a joyous affair. The District Four residents bring food back with them, and they pile it near the caves. Everyone is eager to meet him; he recognizes few faces. Most of the people they've pulled from Four are young: those who had grown up in the Career program, but haven't experienced loss yet. They don't know what it's like to stand in the middle of a crowd and pray not to have their sons' or daughters' names chosen; they don't know what it's like to watch your loved ones be gutted on national television while the Capitol applauds. Or worse, is indifferent.

The atmosphere is disorientating: Those who escaped from the Capitol look down on him. They are the dregs of the elite, and he's only a victor, and they are anxious to remind him that they own him. But the would-be Careers worship him with open reverence, pointedly asking about every malicious thing Coin has done since taking power. (Doesn't he miss the games and the Capitol? And how dare she take away what he had rightfully _earned_?)

This mask is wearing thin, and he hasn't even been here for a complete 24 hours. He doesn't even know if anyone is coming now for that matter. No one mentions a squad of Coin's men arriving in Four. Finnick doesn't know if that's good or bad. 

Savera doesn't leave his side during dinner. She keeps touching him, idly – as if they are more than what they seem. As if she has some claim on him. It's strange, because it irritates him more than it should. He's put up with this for years, but with the promise of being only with Annie, he can't bear pretending like this again, even if for a few hours. 

He has bigger problems though.

Near the end of dinner, he hears screams, from near the beach. Finnick looks, tensing immediately. The group around him chuckles. 

“It seems as if our other guest has arrived,” Alonso says wryly. He excuses himself.

The rest finish dinner, but begin to disperse slowly, heading in the same direction as Alonso. Finnick keeps glancing back over his shoulder, unable to help himself. Savera smiles at him, and then grabs her jaw in one of her hands. She presses a kiss to his mouth before he can stop her.

“It's time to prove yourself, my love,” she says easily. She gets up, and he realizes that he has no choice but to follow. She winds her way through the trees with more ease than he would have ever expected from her. They near where the rest of the group has gathered. Several torches are planted in the ground, ringing them with flames. The flickering light contorts everyone's features, making them appear demonic. 

The crowd parts in front of him, allowing him into the middle of the circle, and still Finnick doesn't fully understand what's happening. 

Savera keeps close at hand though, and suddenly she's handing him something. Finnick accepts it without looking. His hands know it before his mind does. He looks down belatedly, unable to hide his surprise at seeing the trident in his hand. This isn't any trident though. He knows this one.

“I'm glad to see you remember it,” Savera says coyly. And then she retreats, melting back into the crowd. 

Finnick has only a moment to marvel over the fact that, out of everything she could have saved from the Capitol, she chose to save the trident he used to win the 65th Hunger Games. The circle closes more tightly around him, but three people join him in it. They're all young – 17 or 18 at most. The lithe waitress is at the front of the pack, her expression hard, a sword in her hand. 

_Oh._

Coin's words ring in his ears with new clarity: _If they prove themselves not to be sympathetic, they're put inside arenas with individuals who have gone through Career training._

This his test. This is how he has to prove himself. He has to kill children who want a chance at usurping his position. 

A fifth figure is pushed into the center. Finnick stares blankly at him, stunned. Haymitch. Haymitch looks ruffled. One of his eyes is swelling and he is bleeding liberally from a cut on his lip. Finnick can only imagine how they've managed to capture him. (Had they tried to follow Annie and found Haymitch in her stead? He can just imagine how well Haymitch took to the news that they're supporters of Snow.)

“Hey kid,” Haymitch drawls. Alonso tosses Haymitch a small knife, and Haymitch spits at the man's feet in answer.

“May I present Haymitch Abernathy of District 12?” Alonso crows, obviously quite pleased with himself. 

The crowd cackles with glee. They don't care about brave gestures here. They want blood, and they'll take it however they can get it.

For a moment, all Finnick can hear his heart beating in his ears. The noise of the crowd becomes nothing. He remembers promising Annie that he would come back again; but can he do this once more? Can he kill just to be allowed to be with her? Does refusing to kill a group of teenagers constitute taking an unnecessary risk? (Does anyone even know where he is?) 

He misses Alonso shouting out the beginning of the match. But he doesn't miss the waitress sliding toward Haymitch, sword aimed for the kill already. Finnick steps in deftly, his body knowing what to do. He parries the thrust, catching the sword with the trident and knocking it out of the girl's hands. 

The crowd absolutely screeches. (They mistake his intent; they think he's trying to take the kill for himself. He is well-favored in this match.) 

The waitress' eyes widen, and she takes half a step back from Finnick. And in that instant, one of the boys at her back steps in and slits her throat. Finnick flinches, unable to hide his reaction. The girl raises her hand to her throat, and then drops. 

The other two boys are obvious Careers, one huge, and probably not from Four at all, but perhaps One or Two. He's the one with the knives. The other one is thin, and isn't holding any weapon that Finnick can see. Finnick drags his gaze along his body, trying to spot where he could be hiding a weapon. He doesn't get to finish before the larger boy flicks a knife at him. Finnick falters. The knife hits him in the shoulder, a parody of Katniss' arrow. 

Finnick grunts, lifts a hand, and tries to get the knife out. As he moves, the boy rolls toward him, picking up the dropped sword. Finnick thrusts down with the trident, just managing to block a blow. The boy leaves his right hand against the sword, still pressing up against Finnick's trident. With his left hand, he grabs another knife and slices Finnick's calf open with it. Finnick feels the blood drip hotly down his leg. The boy is grinning up at him, taunting and cocky.

In the background, the second boy darts toward Haymitch. Haymitch slashes out, his balance completely off. The second boy disarms Haymitch as if it's nothing and cuts shallowly across Haymitch's gut. 

Finnick grits his teeth, trying to level more of his weight down on the trident. The boy is forced to put both his hands on the sword. He's struggling now, finally. The smirk is wiped off his face. Finnick pushes down with a burst of energy – he gains enough ground that he can reach up and grab the knife out of his shoulder. He flings it across the circle, and it hits the other boy in the shoulder. He's distracted for just the instant. 

But Finnick has lost ground: The boy with the sword parries up, forces Finnick's trident away. Finnick stumbles back a step, is forced to take the defense. He holds the trident out in front of him. His gaze keeps flitting between both the boys. (Is he going to do this? Does he have a choice? Is he even capable of it? His shoulder throbs hotly.) 

“Kill him, Finnick!” someone in the crowd shouts. 

The second boy lunges at Haymitch, going for the kill. Finnick throws the trident. It hits its mark, catching him in the side of the throat. He hits the ground, letting out a strange gurgling sound. Finnick feels sick at the sight of the blood spattered across the ground. 

But he doesn't have time to mourn.

He's defenseless now. The boy swings the sword at him. Finnick stumbles backward – and hands from the crowd push him forward once again. He careens messily toward the boy, and is forced to duck underneath a blow. He can hear the sword slicing through the air just above his head. He dances back upward, his leg singing with pain. He's too close – _too close_ –

He doesn't have time to get out of the way; the sword catches him across the chest. He begins to bleed shallowly. The boy smiles at him again, predatory. The crowd is absolutely screaming now. Finnick can't make out one word from the other. ( _Oh_ , he thinks. _This is it. This is how I die_.)

Finnick plants his feet more firmly in the ground, stares the boy down. If he's going to get to the trident, he needs to get past the kid, and the boy is watching him like a hawk. Finnick feints left and then tries to dart right – but the boy is right there. He sinks the sword into the flesh of Finnick's upper arm. (He's being toyed with now.) 

Finnick has enough time to feel anger explode in his chest. After everything – after all of this – he's going to die in District Four at the hands of some spoiled child who is being bolstered by the leftovers of Snow's government. He's survived everything else Snow had thrown at him, two Hunger Games and a war, and _this is it_?

He forgets about Haymitch. 

Luckily, so does the kid.

One minute the boy is standing in front of him, probably trying to decide what body part to cut off first. The next, he's shrieking, on the ground. Haymitch stands behind him, one of the torches in his hand. The boy's shirt is on fire, eating both through fabric and flesh. 

Haymitch grins at Finnick.

In the next breath, Finnick gets over to his trident, plucks it out of the the other boy. (He has to be even younger than Finnick had originally thought, but he tries not to dwell on that.) The crowd is excited, thinking they're drawing to the end. 

However, Finnick moves to Haymitch's back, and they stand together, facing the crowd instead of attacking each other. There's a rumble of confusion, and then the crowd grows angry, realizing they've been conned. They grow riotous. Finnick brandishes the trident, knowing it's a pointless gesture. There are too many of them. Haymitch starts waving his torch, looking drunker than ever.

Someone catches Finnick on the side, trying to tear them apart. He swings out with the trident. He doesn't hit anybody, but it keeps the crowd at a distance.

“Traitor!” someone shrieks, and then the call is taken up. The word is pelted at him from all sides. 

The crowd is so busy attacking Finnick and Haymitch they don't notice Boggs and his men have arrived on the island until it's too late.

“Freeze!” Boggs shouts as they storm the area. The crowd tries to disperse, but it's dark – and there's no where to run. Any boats that don't belong to Boggs and his crew have been burned. They light up in the water, casting shadows on the shore. Not a single bullet is fired.

One of the soldiers heaves Haymitch up before either of them can protest. (Well, Haymitch shouts profanities that are indistinguishable.) Finnick is almost arrested as well before the man who is cuffing him recognizes him.

“Commander!” the soldier yells. “We found Odair!” 

Boggs heads over to him almost immediately, and Finnick stumbles back to his feet. He's aware of everywhere he's injured. His shirt is soaked through with blood, but the dark color hides it. 

“Finnick,” Boggs says, and he nods at him in a way that he takes to be relieved. 

“Boggs,” Finnick says, and he even manages a genuine smile. “You took your time.”

“Well, it's a good thing I didn't count on you to keep your clothes,” Boggs answers. (Finnick swears he hears just a hint of sarcasm.)

“How did you find me?” Finnick asks. 

“Annie said there was only one thing you would be sure to hang onto,” Boggs answers. Finnick looks down on reflex, and then fishes out the necklace still hanging around his neck. Boggs smiles. 

“She's the smart one,” Finnick says. 

“I have heard that,” Boggs answers.


	7. Chapter 7

Finnick wakes up in a Capitol hospital. It takes him a few minutes to remember where he is, to sort out that he's safe and for the first time in his life, it's a good thing he's here. It's a strange sensation, goes against everything he's learned. The Capitol has never been a safe place. 

His musings are cut short by a wriggling against his side. He looks down and is surprised to find Edie curled up against him, sleeping. She holds one of his hand in between both of hers, the touch implicitly trusting. 

Finnick smiles faintly at her. He runs his other hand through her hair, softer even than Annie's. (Where is she? Where is his Annie?)

He becomes aware of everywhere he's been stitched back up. (Stitches again, no erasure. He'll be a mess by the time he turns 40 if things keep up like this.) The faint cut across his chest is probably the least of his problems, but his shoulder, reopened again, feels abysmally stiff. It'll never be the same. 

He hears footsteps in the hallway and looks toward the doorway. And then there she is. Annie, haloed by the fluorescent lights, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, two styrofoam cups of coffee in her hands. She's talking to someone over her shoulder, and for an instant, he just takes in the sight of her profile: the upward swoop of the end of her nose, the freckles dusting her face, the faint tanline, just visible on her shoulder. (He's taken back to when they first met, understated Annie Cresta, freshly reaped; no one knew to consider her a contender. Not even him. He'd had no idea how she would take his world by storm, floating out of the arena. She had simultaneously been the most real and unreal thing he had ever known. She still was.)

She turns. Her eyes widen, the corners of her mouth tug downward into a frown. (Her face is creased in these places, perhaps the only way she has aged since he has known her. Those lines are far too defined on her face for someone so young. But then, they aren't so young anymore, are they?)

“Hey,” he says.

“Finnick,” she says. Doesn't even try to hide the relief in her voice. She hurries over to him, drops the coffee, without a thought, onto the small side table awkwardly next to his bed. She wraps her arms around him without hesitation, and he breathes deep. He wraps one arm – the one without the IV – around her in return. He wants to hold her forever, not let her go.

He shifts to kiss her, his lips bumping up against hers before she pulls back.

“God, you're such an idiot!” she says, upset flooding back in. She smacks him, not hard, but on his bad shoulder.

“Jesus, _Annie_ ,” he sucks in a breath of hurt as her hands fly comically up to her mouth.

“Oh shit,” she says, fussing without knowing what to do. Her hands flutter around his shoulder, pulling his hospital gown aside.

“Shit, Finnick, I'm sorry,” she says. “I'm _sorry_.” Her eyes well with tears, and he forgets about the throbbing (minor, really).

“Shh, shh,” he says, trying to pull her back down. “I'm okay. I'm okay, see?”

“You scared the _hell_ out of me,” she gasps, her tears not abating. “I knew you shouldn't have gone. You were so pale when they brought you in, and I thought--” She can't finish what she thought had happened to him, but he knows all the same. He pulls her in closer and presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“I'm fine,” he says again, even more serious than before. “Really.”

“Boggs said Savera Aldjoy and Alonso Slender were there,” Annie says, looking up at him. She says it like it's an argument, as if, as long as those two were there, he couldn't have possibly come back. 

“They were,” Finnick answers, because he knows better than to lie to her about any of it, even though his impulse is still to do exactly that. (To downplay his own fear, his own conviction that he wasn't going to survive this.)

Annie sinks down into the plastic chair flush against his bed. She takes his hand in between both of hers, unknowingly parodying her daughter's actions. (Edie still is asleep despite the commotion.)

“What happened?” she asks. “What did they do to you?”

He doesn't really want to put himself back on that island. He knows the memories will never bite at him in the same his set of games do, but he still isn't proud of what he's done.

“They had us fighting,” Finnick answers. Annie's hands tremble around his. “Is Haymitch alright?”

“They released him last night,” Annie answers, shaking her head. “He's fine.” 

Finnick nods, his throat going tight.

“I killed a kid, Annie,” Finnick says thickly, words he will only say to her with this level of emotion. “They had these teenagers in the ring with us. And I killed one of them.” 

“It's not your fault, Finnick,” Annie says quietly, running a hand through his hair, something that normally calmed him.

“It's just so _stupid_ ,” Finnick persists. “They died for _nothing_.”

“I know,” Annie answers. She might have not killed anyone in her games, but she carries that guilt with her the same as all of them. They are a part of this monster, the last vestiges. Subhuman and superhuman all in one blinding instance. 

“But Alonso and Savera are gone now,” Annie answers. “Coin had them arrested. They're being tried with treason.” They both know the trial will be a farce. Alonso and Savera will never be free again. Finnick knows he should feel some kickback of guilt. Their new world is supposed to be shining and golden. Their justice system should be more _fair_. But the vengeful little pit that has taken residence in his heart doesn't want them to have any chance at freedom. Not after everything they've done. 

(Not after Savera could effortlessly claim him any time she wanted. She had _laughed_ about Annie Cresta, their waterlogged champion. Had felt bad for Finnick that his first winner as a mentor had been a victor the Capitol had never cared for, when, in the end, Annie Cresta was the only person Finnick had wanted to live for. They had written her off so easily, diminished her worth so much just because she had never been what they _wanted_. They could never see all the ways she was so beautiful. The way she looked, dappled in early-morning sunlight, and swimming in a crest of sea and stars. The sand that curled about her ankles, and the way she _laughed_. She laughed as if it was a reason for living, never cruelly. Never at anyone else's expense. Annie had been the best victor to survive the games, and they had hated her.)

“Would you lay down with me?” Finnick asks. Her eyes move down to Edie, but she rounds the other side of the bed, picks up the blanket, and snuggles tight against him. There's not near enough room for all three of them.

She rests her head on his good shoulder, and he feels each one of her soft exhales. They remain like that for some time.

“Will you go back to Four?” he asks abruptly. That's why he's made it safe for her, he knows. So she could go home. But it suddenly frightens him. He can't lose her. Not again, never again. And what will happen if she goes back to Four, and he stays in Twelve? (He hasn't thought this far, and it lights a panic in his chest. He feels almost jittery.) 

“I suppose so,” she answers without looking at him. He can't read into her words, into the tone she uses, and that scares him even more.

“Marry me,” he says quietly, the words almost a whisper. He never thought this moment would happen, but he would have never imagined it like this either. 

She looks up at him. And then smiles.

“Yes,” she answers, no hesitation. Her hand comes to rest on his chest, mindful of the healing gash. She leans in to kiss him.

He kisses with as much as depth as he can manage, hand going up to cup the back of her neck lovingly. She laughs quietly, joyfully, into his mouth. 

“I love you,” he tells her when they part, brushing his nose up against hers.

“I love you,” Annie answers in return, kissing him again, a quick press of her lips against his lower one.

“Can I adopt Edie?” Finnick asks, and this is the question, strangely that makes him more nervous. He knows where he stands with Annie, but he can't blot out the image of Annie tugging her daughter away from him, challenging him with her gaze to actually say anything.

Annie pulls away. (For an instant, just a moment, his heart leaps into his throat.) But then Annie drags her fingers through his hair again.

“Yes,” she answers softly, another smile. Another kiss.

…

Annie swells with their son by the time they get married. Their ceremony is on the beach of Four, just Haymitch, Prim, Gale, and Melia in attendance. Edie is more dressed up than the lot of them, done in a short green dress covered in frills. She wears a crown of flowers, woven lovingly the day before by Annie.

They had traveled for nearly a year after Finnick was released from the hospital. They left the Capitol behind them and remained inseparable as they traveled, incognito. They didn't stay for very long in One or Two, but lingered in Three, and remained in Seven for a month and a half before continuing on their journey. (Finnick had visited Johanna, going by himself. He had sat at her grave for the better half of an afternoon, her name already starting to blur from the headstone. He misses her. He misses her with an intensity he hadn't felt in a long time.

He supposes he's forgiven her as well. Forgiven her for sending him back a victor, forgiven her for making him go through this alone. Because, despite everything, he has Annie now. He has his own life. And if he had died in the arena, he wouldn't have had either.) 

He and Annie touch throughout the entire trip, deliriously playing the role of newlyweds, despite their wedding being unplanned. She finds out she's pregnant while they're in Five, the news delivered shyly, but Finnick is exuberant, overwhelmed, happy. He hadn't thought he could have children, not after all of this, but it hadn't mattered: He loved Edie as if she was his own daughter, because she is Annie's, and that's more than enough for him. 

Their trip is slowed down as Annie balloons, and she finally gives way, and allows them to come home, where she can have steady checkups from the same doctor. (Finnick had worried incessantly, even though Annie had assured him that this or that was _normal_.) 

A month before they put their roots back down in Four, the group that Boggs had captured is tried. One by one, they enter the court system. And one by one, they are returned to their cells. It's so expected that it's barely discussed. Finnick still tenses, a kneejerk reaction. He expects there to be backlash. But there isn't. The last of Snow's forces have been washed out. All that's left of the Hunger Games, finally, is a memory.

Coin sends them a pair of gold rings in advance of their wedding. They must have been costly, but they are simple all the same. They seem to be not only symbolic of Finnick and Annie, but of the strange contradiction their country has become: the old and the new intermingling, developing into something better than either had been separately. 

They are married on the beach, under a net they wove together. They dab each other's lips with salt water. Edie cheers, throws up a fat fistful of flowers that catch in Annie's hair. 

This is a day of impossibility; this is a day that has been unmade by so many before it: by Finnick volunteering at 14 on a beach not far away, by Annie's name being grabbed out of thousands. By Finnick being slipped in Savera Aldjoy's bed not long after his 15th birthday, by Finnick telling Annie he didn't love her. By Annie marrying someone else. But, in the same breath, this is the only way it could have ever been possible; would they have found each other if it hadn't been for the Hunger Games? Would he loved her with a such a ferocity if he had been freely given to her? How would they have ever had Edie if there hadn't been that pause in their lives when they were both were lost?

Finnick kisses Annie like breathing, naturally but something he knows better than to take for granted. She tucks his hand against her belly, and their son kicks, a quiet bump of greeting.

…

This is how he dies: It is not in the arena when he is 14; it not by his own hand when he is 19; it is not in the arena when he is 24; it is not in Four when he is 31. 

He is asleep, curled next to Annie, 82, and as in love with her as he was when they were married on the beach. Their tiny house is a creature of its own now, filled to the brim with sea glass and paintings, sand shifting across the floor, brought into the house after their walk last night. Filled with pictures of their children. (Two more after Tristan, but the last baby, Luke, was hard on Annie, and Finnick couldn't bear losing her, so that is their family. But handfuls of grandchildren now too. The twins from Edie, six in total from Tristan, all boys who look devastatingly like Finnick did when he was younger. Three girls from Maggie.) 

It is a life that was fought for, and it was a life well worth the fight.


End file.
